The night was silent as Kevinar and I made our way forward, staying low and moving from shadow to shadow to cloak our presence.

A Stealth +1/10 notification popped into my side bar, and I felt a small surge of pride. My abysmal stealth skills were improving. “I'm getting the hang of this,” I whispered to myself.

I could feel Jeldorain roll his eyes inside of me. Luck has its uses.

The night was dark, the stars all hidden away behind a thick bank of storm clouds. Light rain was falling again, misting wetness over everything around and further mucking up the already mulchy ground. The fresh scent of rain-soaked earth and trees thickened, and I stealthily sucked it in as we moved forward, hunched and silent.

As droplets pattered softly around us, Jeldorain grumbled within me, and I stopped, his unease radiating through our icy bones. But after a moment, he settled. I thought about asking him what the problem was, but given the possibly dangerous circumstances we were in and the probability it was a rant about Schustak, I let it be.

I could deal with all of that later.

“You dreamed of home.” Kevinar’s whispered words caught me completely by surprise. My mouth stuttered a juicy mix of unorganized letters and vowels as his violet eyes stared at me through the dark, and I went silent. “Was it a portent, or simply a dream?” he asked.

My home, my yard, the gids and wife gone, the place gone to rot, I couldn’t tell exactly what it was. But it had been so vivid, and felt so real. “Portent,” I uttered, surprising myself.

He nodded. “Stay there and don’t move,” he said. Creeping up a few meters, I saw him trace the air with his finger, and suddenly I realized there was a trap in front of us. Game errata fluttered up to dominate my vision:

Noise-Maker

Type: Mechanical

Trigger: Trip Wire

Effect: When activated, the trap releases a series of loud noises, including clanging metals, rattling chains, and a high-pitched whistle. This is designed to alert nearby enemies or creatures to the presence of intruders.

Location: Hidden beneath a layer of leaves and soil on the main path.

I marveled at the find, the thin wire impossible to see even with the boons of dark vision. But to Kevinar, it had just been another day in the woods. As I watched, he traced the wire to its tree, then down to the mulched leaves and dirt under which the device lay. Pulling a small kit of tools from his inventory, his movements made tiny clicks and creaks, but were well covered by the noise of the weather. After a few minutes, he picked up the trap and disappeared it into his inventory.

“Portent,” he said, continuing where we’d left off, continuing our sneak forward. “Visions of the future are powerful things, Ryan. Dangerous too, though. Would you tell me of your dream as we approach? I am confident that I will be aware of any possible enemies well before they come into possible earshot.”

I nodding, talking him through the events of the dream, and the horror of my family’s disappearance. He reacted not at all as I talked, and I began to wonder if he was even listening, but when I finished, he stopped walking and turned, facing me.

“Your focus on your home is all about your family. That is important to know, because I expect, given the power used to bring you here, that you might have to choose one or the other. That is assuming you ever get the choice at all.”

Opening my mouth to answer, he shushed me, pointing to the horizon. We had finally arrived at our destination. First glimpsed as an ember spark in the distance, hard to see due to its lower elevation, we soon stood from the edge of this hill, looking down to the opened depths of the next. Hidden amongst a thick bunch of trees and bushes, we hunched and set up our observation post.

From our hidden perch, my eyes followed the lines of the temple below. Tall, fluted columns rose from the ground, their shadows flickering long to short to long again against a foreground of large campfire. Between them, detailed carvings danced out scenes of churning clouds, lightning bolts, and horned figures that crackled lightly but audibly with electricity every time it was hit by wind or rain.

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The place had a presence, the air heavy with a pulsing feel of electricity, smelling of ozone and burnt carbon. And the stones themselves whispered, their words rolling out in a litany of ancient words whose meanings were almost certainly lost to time.

Some still remember, Jeldorain muttered suddenly.

One moment I was on my chest, peering through bushes. In the next moment, I was floating over a world from eons past, watching its events unfold before my eyes. Majestic temples, much like the one below, stood tall and proud. Each had their own theme, their own particular overlord to be worshipped.

Zooming through the air, I landed near one, a place made of obsidian, its walls bristling with white hot magical torches. The landscape before me was a stark contrast of blazing inferno and solid ground. On one side, a Fire Infernal danced amidst roaring flames. Its body was a living pyre, with skin that seemed to be made of molten lava, constantly shifting and flowing. Flames licked off its form, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. Its eyes, burning coals set deep within its face, held a fierce intensity that was both captivating and terrifying. Every movement it made sent embers flying, and the air around it shimmered with intense heat.

I was thrown to another temple, this one gray granite, bulky and thick. Here an Earth Infernal stood, a stark contrast to its fiery counterpart. It was a towering figure, its body resembling a mountain of rough stone and compacted soil. Crystals glinted where its eyes should be, reflecting the fiery glow from the Fire Infernal. Moss and plants grew in patches on its back and arms, a damp tangle of weeds sprouted from its chin. Its movements were slow and deliberate, each step causing the ground beneath to tremble. The deep rumble of its guttural roars echoed through the landscape, sounding like rocks grinding together.

There were many of us, Jeldorain whispered. Strangely, the world was much more peaceful then. A sacrifice on holidays, in return for protection and magical pacts.

I was sucked back into the sky, looking over the lands from above. Elemental infernals, powerful and awe-inspiring, ruled these sacred grounds. Humans and other beings bowed in reverence, serving these elemental lords. The wind tore at my naked human body as I watched the horrific wars and chaos between them all.

Peaceful? I questioned him.

He shrugged. We weren’t so nice to others, but we were kinder governors than those that exist today.

We flew through the air, alighting a small distance from the temple that I was actually near. Jeldorain's voice echoed in my mind, tinged with nostalgia. The Temple of the Storm he murmured. Ah, those were the good old days. I ruled not far from here in a different life, or so my dreams tell me.

You have multiple lives? I asked.

Not known for certain, but as an infernal, I can remember the lives of some others and those others might have possibly been me. I look forward to going inside here and seeing how things have changed over the years.

I nodded, no words left worth saying, and I shook off the remnants of the vision, focusing on the present. Below, a few orcs lounged around a campfire, their hide armor glistening wetly in the firelight. They chatted in a guttural language I couldn't comprehend. One of them, larger than the others, caught my attention. Half his nose was missing, likely to some past battle or skirmish. Beside the temple entrance lay a pile of tools, discarded and forgotten, their purpose served.

There were no tents, no signs of where these orcs might retire for the night. It struck me as odd. Were they so confident in their safety that they felt no need for shelter?

From our bushy hideout on the hill's edge, we observed the scene below. The temple, the orcs, the mystery of it all. There was no one else in sight, yet the sheer amount of tools in the pile indicated at least a platoon of laborers. Had we killed that many, that just these few were left? And if so, why were they even bothering to stick around?

I turned to talk to Kevinar about it, but he beat me to it, his grip on his weapon tightening and his eyes darting around.

“Something's not right,” he murmured. “Where's the rest of the tribe?”

Before I could respond, a guttural orcish howl echoed from behind us, followed by another and another. We were surrounded. Orcs appeared from the shadows, trees, and forests, almost certainly the recipients of an invisibility spell of magic, weapons drawn, their eyes filled with malice.

As I scanned the emerging horde, one figure immediately caught my attention. Towering over the rest, the chieftain stood with an imposing presence that demanded respect. His massive frame was draped in intricately detailed armor, adorned with symbols and talismans that likely held significance within his tribe. Deep-set eyes, glowing with a fierce intensity, locked onto mine, challenging and unyielding. His face, a rugged landscape of scars and war paint, was twisted into a snarl, revealing sharp tusks that protruded menacingly from his lower lip. A thick, braided beard fell to his chest, interspersed with beads and bones, likely trophies from past conquests. In his grip, he held a massive ax, its blade gleaming ominously in the dim light. Every inch of him radiated power and authority, and it was clear that he was a force to be reckoned with.

“Surrender,” he shouted, his thick black beard rocking with the fury of his call.

Above me, a long red bar stretched out. Gorthak Skullsmasher, the name read.

“I’ve got a plan,” Kevinar said, smiling. It was a strange smile, strained. The sort of thing you might expect to come from someone making light of his impending execution at the gallows. He hopped over the edge of the hill, tumbling down towards the few orcs guarding the front of the ruin, and I followed, running and trying to remain upright, but failing whatever check the physics system required and crashing to the ground before rolling sideways like a big frozen log.

Above us, at the edge, Gorthak and his orcs glowered.

“You will not befoul the temple. Enter those halls, and your flattened skulls shall join the others in the Pits of Despair,” he called.

The orcs at the bottom stood, saw Kevinar leap to his feet, saw me roll in from behind, and they took off running. Getting up, I glanced over my shoulder to see the orcs picking their way more carefully down the slope. Sensing our opportunity, we broke for the temple entrance.