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It was quiet. Too quiet. Though it felt cliché to think, Cronic knew that old libraries like this were always full of noise; tired creaks and groans as the walls and roof beams settled, distant whistles as wind seeped in through broken windows and echoed down corridors, even the scurrying steps of little claws scarpering over ancient bookcases as resident mice explored the ruins for food - but here he heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. The only sound he had heard since he stepped foot inside these walls was the steady, rhythmic pulse of blood passing through his ears.
It was wrong. Buildings were never this quiet.
They were never this dark either - this horrible, impenetrable, unnatural darkness that mired his lamplight like a sickening tar, far short of the distance it should reach. The result was a suffocatingly small bubble of light and noise in which he lived, somewhere deep in an endless void of ink-black darkness that seemed for all the world to be biding its time, ready to rush in around him at any moment and swallow him for itself.
It was times like these that he was glad for the companion at his side. Eabha, the paladin dragoness he had worked alongside for a few moons now. Reliable. Brave. Remarkably effective with that enchanted sword of hers. Her auburn fur danced with harsh shadows from his flickering lamplight, softened only by the constant subtle glow of her drawn sword, but her eyes were steadfast - intense, focused, determined. He was grateful for them - in this darkness they would have little time to react should they need to and two sets of eyes were undoubtedly better than one.
They advanced slowly onward. Inch by agonising inch, ears pricked, weapons on the edgiest of triggers, further and further into the belly of the library, and Cronic steadied himself on the thoughts of why they even came here to begin with.
Rumours had circulated about people going missing in these ruins. At first it had been assumed that scavengers hunting for valuable in the ancient city had encountered other raiders and rivalries had grown heated, others speculated that maybe slave-taking tribes like goblins were involved, but then adventurers and hunting parties began to go missing too - strong, capable groups who should’ve been more than able to protect themselves or escape, at least in part, should any trouble occur. And the stories grew stranger still; no bodies were ever found, no abandoned camps, not even the signs of fighting anywhere around the old city ruins. It was as though the lost had simply vanished from existence entirely. Scanning the endless, all-consuming dark in front of them, Cronic tried to push that particular thought from his mind.
The wooden planks beneath their feet gave way abruptly to cold stone tiles and the rough laid walls either side of him retreated back into the darkness leaving only the semi-distant silhouettes of books and bookcases at the edges of his lamplight. Dust and the rich stuffy smell of decomposing parchment filled his nose as they moved into what he assumed to be the grand centre of the old library, but there, underlying that haze of mustiness, was a scent familiar and foul, subtle and metallic, spiced and rotten. Dark magic. Something lurked here and the rising pressure in his chest told him it was something ancient and terrible.
His eyes briefly met Eabha’s and she silently, slowly, nodded. Any doubt the stories had been tall tales vanished within their minds. People disappeared here. Adventurers disappeared here. But as Eabha had speculated when the stories first reached their ears, those people weren’t gone, those people had not been wiped from existence as the townsfolk had theatrically told them, and as the first gentle clack-clack-clack of bone striking against stone drifted through the halls of the library, Cronic couldn’t help but feel a weight settle in his stomach as he realised that far, far worse had befallen those who had ventured into these ruins. His hand reached up to the staff across his back and his mind drifted briefly back to the stories of old Eabha had told him, the stories of the great ancient wielders of dark, unholy magics, and as the sounds of shuffling skeletons began to grow louder and louder in the darkness around them, he could not help but know, somewhere deep and intrinsic in his soul, that the lich who had brought the lost back would not be far behind.
Cronic: me
Eabha:
feralhedgehog
Art:
drawing_sofa
It was wrong. Buildings were never this quiet.
They were never this dark either - this horrible, impenetrable, unnatural darkness that mired his lamplight like a sickening tar, far short of the distance it should reach. The result was a suffocatingly small bubble of light and noise in which he lived, somewhere deep in an endless void of ink-black darkness that seemed for all the world to be biding its time, ready to rush in around him at any moment and swallow him for itself.
It was times like these that he was glad for the companion at his side. Eabha, the paladin dragoness he had worked alongside for a few moons now. Reliable. Brave. Remarkably effective with that enchanted sword of hers. Her auburn fur danced with harsh shadows from his flickering lamplight, softened only by the constant subtle glow of her drawn sword, but her eyes were steadfast - intense, focused, determined. He was grateful for them - in this darkness they would have little time to react should they need to and two sets of eyes were undoubtedly better than one.
They advanced slowly onward. Inch by agonising inch, ears pricked, weapons on the edgiest of triggers, further and further into the belly of the library, and Cronic steadied himself on the thoughts of why they even came here to begin with.
Rumours had circulated about people going missing in these ruins. At first it had been assumed that scavengers hunting for valuable in the ancient city had encountered other raiders and rivalries had grown heated, others speculated that maybe slave-taking tribes like goblins were involved, but then adventurers and hunting parties began to go missing too - strong, capable groups who should’ve been more than able to protect themselves or escape, at least in part, should any trouble occur. And the stories grew stranger still; no bodies were ever found, no abandoned camps, not even the signs of fighting anywhere around the old city ruins. It was as though the lost had simply vanished from existence entirely. Scanning the endless, all-consuming dark in front of them, Cronic tried to push that particular thought from his mind.
The wooden planks beneath their feet gave way abruptly to cold stone tiles and the rough laid walls either side of him retreated back into the darkness leaving only the semi-distant silhouettes of books and bookcases at the edges of his lamplight. Dust and the rich stuffy smell of decomposing parchment filled his nose as they moved into what he assumed to be the grand centre of the old library, but there, underlying that haze of mustiness, was a scent familiar and foul, subtle and metallic, spiced and rotten. Dark magic. Something lurked here and the rising pressure in his chest told him it was something ancient and terrible.
His eyes briefly met Eabha’s and she silently, slowly, nodded. Any doubt the stories had been tall tales vanished within their minds. People disappeared here. Adventurers disappeared here. But as Eabha had speculated when the stories first reached their ears, those people weren’t gone, those people had not been wiped from existence as the townsfolk had theatrically told them, and as the first gentle clack-clack-clack of bone striking against stone drifted through the halls of the library, Cronic couldn’t help but feel a weight settle in his stomach as he realised that far, far worse had befallen those who had ventured into these ruins. His hand reached up to the staff across his back and his mind drifted briefly back to the stories of old Eabha had told him, the stories of the great ancient wielders of dark, unholy magics, and as the sounds of shuffling skeletons began to grow louder and louder in the darkness around them, he could not help but know, somewhere deep and intrinsic in his soul, that the lich who had brought the lost back would not be far behind.
Cronic: me
Eabha:
feralhedgehogArt:
drawing_sofa
Category All / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1598 x 900px
File Size 316.6 kB
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