The abyssal alter

They cautiously explored the shadowed halls, seeking route for an exit and perhaps something more. It wasn't long before they stumbled upon a chamber, its door slightly opened, revealing a cloaked figure within.

Finnegan watched through the partially opened door, studying the frantic movements of a cloaked man within. Tattoos etched his muscled frame, one of them distinctly resembling the symbol of Morgrimm, the god of the undead. Memories of a recent public execution, where a man accused of being an evil priest of Morgrimm met his fate, flooded Finnegan's mind. The room's interior confirmed the grim atmosphere, a new stone symbol of Morgrimm etched into the wall, surrounded by simple beds and blood red curtains.

The hushed mutterings of the priest reached Finnegan's ears, speaking of a sacrifice to appease his malevolent deity. The mention of a 'mistress' and 'danger' raised a sense of fear. It became evident that the priest conversed with shadows and ghosts, a haunting dialogue that chilled the air.

As the priest approached the cracked doorway, Finnegan swiftly retreated, waiting in the shadows alongside Gareth. With a nod, they burst into the room, catching the priest off guard. Reginold's sword slashed the man's shoulder, eliciting a desperate attempt to escape while invoking dark incantations. In response, Finnegan channeled a bolt of searing flame that engulfed the priest's cloak. The room erupted in screams and chaos, ending abruptly as Reginold delivered a decisive strike, felling their foe.

Finnegan reflected, pondering the wisdom of their actions. "Perhaps we should have kept him alive. We remain in the dark about the fate of the rest of the caravan," Finnegan lamented.

"In battle, there's no room for regrets," Gareth reassured, his confidence unshaken. "No harm has befallen us. I deem that a victory!"

Finnegan and Gareth had only taken a few steps into the dark hallway when they saw flickering light up ahead and heard the scuffling of feet.

"Hide!" Finnegan whispered to Gareth as they ran back into the room and dived behind the curtain. Meanwhile, Gareth pressed himself against the wall behind the open door. It seemed like they'd been in their hiding place for only a few seconds when they heard hurried footsteps in the room.

"Veldac! He is slain," they heard a tweedy voice say. "Butchered."

"And his chest is pillaged," they heard another voice say, this one close by. They imagined whoever it was glaring down at the empty corpse. They knew there were at least two men out there. They decided there was no choice but to fight.

Finnegan leaped up from behind the curtain with his dagger drawn. The nearest Morgrimm priest gasped in surprise. He heard "Slay!" from the other priest, and he dodged, but not fast enough. Painful cold radiated out from where he was struck by the dark magic.

He jumped up onto a nearby bed and launched himself at the nearest priest, who shrieked as he stabbed him over and over. Meanwhile, Gareth had made quick work of the other one with his long sword.

They took the time to search the bodies and found golden unholy-symbol medallions on each of them, as well as one fine, silver dagger. Not bad for twenty seconds of work.

"I tire of looting corpses. Let us be off to find the merchants and Elena's Father, and by them, a glorious reward!" Finnegan exclaimed.

As they ventured deeper into the castle, they found themselves in a library; however, all the books had been removed from the tall wooden shelves, leaving it a disappointing sight for the wizard.

"All castle libraries have secret doors," Finnegan declared. After a bit of searching, he spotted a small statue of a winged boy reading a book worked into the stone wall. He pressed on the statue's arm, and it shifted down, causing a grinding sound. A nearby bookshelf cracked open from the wall, revealing a hidden passage.

They descended a few steps, greeted by a chilly silence and a faint, eerie green light. Gareth took the lead, holding his sword at the ready.

"Where is this green light coming from?" Gareth asked, clearly afraid.

"It's as though..." He hesitated. "As though it shines out of the walls."

"Highly unusual, I will admit," Finnegan said. "It's some form of magic."

"I don't need a wizard to tell me that it's some form of magic," Gareth muttered. "Unlike you, I am not comfortable with the unnatural. I trust your magic, and only barely at that."

Finnegan reassured him, "Well, I'm fairly certain that down those stairs is where the treasure—or at least the glory—is."

"Where the evil is," Gareth countered as he descended further, still leading the way.

Inside the passage, Finnegan noticed a small metal lever meant for opening the door from the inside, but he decided to leave it open to avoid any potential entrapment.

After a while, they reached a small, empty chamber with a mysterious mist near the floor. On the far wall stood a large iron door, covered in elaborate symbols scrawled in a rusty red dye, possibly dried blood. Gareth pointed his sword at the door, clearly uneasy.

"It's writing in the morgrimman tongue," Finnegan explained. "A language of devils, demons, and other creatures from the nightmare realms."

"At times, I do not envy your knowledge," Gareth admitted with a shudder. "The study of magic leads to many dark places."

"The trick is not to wander too far into the void," Finnegan advised.

"What does it say?" Gareth asked, lacking enthusiasm.

Finnegan studied the symbols, noting their crude appearance, as if they were scrawled by bloody fingers. "I cannot be certain, but I believe it's a ward of some sort, a protection spell."

"A protective spell using such a foul language?" Gareth sniffed. "I would expect a curse or a fiendish summoning."

"It is protection against such a summoning, a barrier," Finnegan explained. "Evil knows evil best, and a spell caster of dark magic understands the need to protect themselves from the terrors they bring into this world."

Gareth grimaced and pointed his sword at the warded door. "Only a fool would go down there... Although... I am more a man of curiosity than wisdom."

Finnegan playfully slapped his shoulder, the sound dull against his breastplate. "As you have proven time and again."

Finnegan opened the door and stepped in, trying to lighten the eerie atmosphere. "Hmm, maybe there's a treasure room beyond?" he joked.

"Fortune and glory, my friend," Gareth said with a broad smile.

The large iron door shuddered and screeched as Gareth slowly pried it open. Once open, their faces dropped in unison. A powerful stench wafted up from the dark stairs below. Taking a deep breath, Gareth plunged down the stairway, with Finnegan following closely.

They descended for what felt like an eternity before entering a large room eerily illuminated by green-flaming torches mounted on the walls. Near the far wall stood a stairway leading up to an altar adorned with skulls—some human, others belonging to animals or monsters. The lower altar was bloodstained and covered with candles in golden holders surrounding a peculiar book. The book itself was bound in what might very well be mummified human skin, with hand and finger bones embedded into the cover, as though it were clasped by the deceased. The title was inscribed in Morgrimman, unfamiliar to them. Beyond the book lay a raised portion of the altar, white stone and seemingly free of bloodstains. On this surface, more candles, a golden cup, and a large bowl filled with a dark liquid, perhaps blood, were arranged.

Just before the altar, a deep pit caught their attention. Shining the lantern into it, they made out something gleaming white—a skeletal arm and hand.

"Sacrifices, the source of the stench," Finnegan muttered. "I would bet my last copper that Elena's father and the rest of the caravan are among them."

Gareth grimaced in disgust. "I say we swiftly pilfer what we can from this unholy place and leave."

As Gareth spoke, the bowl on the upper altar began to tremble, and the candlelight around it rippled.

"Something is coming!" Finnegan whispered.

"It is already here!" Gareth declared.

Smoke billowed up from the bowl, creating the form of a horned fiend. Its glowing, pitiless eyes scanned the chamber, taking in every detail. "Demon!" Finnegan shouted.

Despite his terrified expression, Gareth was already preparing to gather valuables from the altar. It might be the right idea—they came here for loot, and it might take a moment for this shadowy creature to fully manifest. That peculiar book could be quite valuable. "Loot and run," Finnegan whispered as he tossed the book into his bag.

Gareth got to work, extinguishing candles and stowing golden candlesticks into his backpack. Finnegan followed suit. They were nearly finished when they heard a hissing voice in the Morgrimman language, "Your souls are mine!"

"Now we run!" Finnegan shouted as he slung on his backpack.

A bone-chilling cold suddenly gripped his shoulder, making him scream. He fought free, bolting up the stairs, leaping three steps at a time. A wheezing snarl echoed not far behind.

"FREEDOM!" came a raspy shout followed by eerie laughter.

He turned on the speed, nearly catching up to Gareth at the top when a sudden, overpowering chill washed over him.

"Let me in!" hissed a voice in his head. He resisted, feeling as though his soul was being torn apart.

Despite the pain, he pressed on, following Gareth out of the secret door, out of the library, and down several passageways.

Rounding a corner, they found themselves in a large room illuminated by soft candlelight. In the center, three sinister priests held hands, surrounding what seemed to be a pile of corpses. They chanted in the Infernal language, and one of the corpses began to twitch.

Meanwhile, the massive ogre stood nearby, fixing its coal-dark eyes on Gareth. At the same time, the twitching corpse sprung to its feet with alarming speed. Finnegan thought he recognized him as one of the priests they killed earlier. The undead creature locked its hungry gaze onto him seemingly eager for its next prey.