Third Artifact

Valarian's pursuit of the stone had reached its zenith as his followers herded a group of forty trembling individuals into the village square. The majority were children, their faces marked by terror and uncertainty, accompanied by a handful of adults. Valarian surveyed the group with a predatory gaze, his presence commanding and foreboding.

Walking slowly in front of the frightened villagers, he addressed them with a chilling simplicity, "So which one of you has the stone? Don't waste my time, I will find out anyway, but then you'll be dead." His threat hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the grave situation they all faced.

From the crowd, a man stepped forward, his arm extended. In his open hand lay the stone—small, unassuming, yet evidently invaluable. As Valarian's eyes caught sight of it, a wide grin spread across his face, a grotesque mask of satisfaction and triumph.

He turned to his loyal lizardman and pointed to the man who had just revealed the stone and the one who had earlier opposed him. "Do whatever you want with these two," Valarian commanded, his voice dripping with disdain. Then, turning to the rest of his followers, he added, "Don't kill anyone more."

Lizardman's response was immediate and gleeful, "Thank you, master," he said, his grin mirroring Valarian's own. This prompted a murmur of discontent among the other followers, one witch openly complaining, "Hey, that's unfair. You give everything to Oltax." referring to the lizardman. Valarian said with a sigh, "Okay, you can take one of them."

The woman who had reluctantly given up the location of the stone called out, her voice a mix of despair and accusation, "You promised..." 

Valarian, unphased by the plea, simply retorted with a cruel smirk, "You should be thankful that I spared the others." His lack of empathy was stark, his focus singularly on his goal.

Mounting his dragon once more, Valarian left the village behind with the stone securely in his possession. He soared through the skies and then descended at the designated location of the gate. Dismounting, he cast a wind spell around himself, creating a protective bubble that kept the water at bay as he submerged into the lake.

Upon reaching the underwater gate, Valarian placed the stone into its setting. The mechanism responded instantly, gears turning and ancient locks disengaging with a series of mechanical clicks and groans. The gate slowly began to open, revealing an interior unaffected by the surrounding waters, thanks to a magical barrier that kept the lake at bay.

Beyond the gate lay a vast hall, its grandeur surpassing the previous gates. The chamber was opulent, adorned with riches untold—walls lined with gold, treasures piled high, creating a dazzling display of wealth and power. It was a sight that spoke of ancient legacies and long-forgotten civilizations, now unearthed by Valarian's relentless pursuit.

Deep within the hall beyond the gate, Valarian found an altar, similar to the one in the previous gate, and a guardian protecting an ancient altar. The guardian this time was a formidable catfolk, clad in gleaming golden armor, flanked by treemans—living entities of bark and vine—guarding the precious artifact enclosed within a mystical cage at the altar's center.

With a strategic command, Valarian unleashed his undead dragon upon the treemans. The dragon, resurrected and bound to his will, surged forward with ferocity, breathing jets of flame that quickly subdued the tree-like creatures. Vulnerable to fire, the treemans crumbled under the assault, their wooden bodies igniting and disintegrating within moments.

As the dragon engaged the guardians, Valarian focused his attention on the catfolk. Summoning an army of undead, bolstered by his dark necromantic spells, he orchestrated an overwhelming attack. The catfolk guardian, despite his impressive armor and martial prowess, was soon overrun. With the guardian subdued, Valarian began an intricate incantation, his voice echoing through the ancient hall as he worked to dismantle the magical barriers around the cage.

The spellcraft required was complex, weaving through layers of ancient protection with precise magical syntax. Finally, the cage broke, and Valarian reached out to claim the artifact within, swiftly storing it in his infinite space dimension—a realm of his own making, secured from the reaches of time and space.

With the artifact now in his possession, Valarian turned his attention to the fallen catfolk. With a few words from his dark tome, he invoked a spell of resurrection, binding the catfolk's soul to his undead legion. The once noble guardian rose, its will now enslaved to Valarian, its golden armor tarnished by the shadow of undeath.

Having secured his prize and added to his forces, Valarian returned to the village where his followers were waiting. The scene that greeted him was one of devastation; the village was in ruins, the aftermath of his followers' revelry and wrath. Buildings lay in smoldering heaps, their structures broken and charred. Yet, as he had commanded, no further lives had been taken; his followers had restrained themselves after his initial purge.

Valarian's laughter, deep and mirthful, echoed through the shattered village as he surveyed the destruction. "We stay here for another day," he announced to his followers, his voice carrying over the debris. "Drink and eat as much as you want. I am in a great mood, so don't break my promise by killing more people—it will make me dishonorable."

His words, soaked in irony, were not lost on the remaining catfolks who listened. They knew all too well the extent of his dishonor, yet none dared to challenge or contradict him.

when night fell over the village, Valarian's followers indulged in their spoils, their raucous laughter and the clinking of stolen goblets filling the air. Meanwhile, Valarian retreated to perform a complex ritual, necessary to unlock the full potential of the newly acquired artifact. The ritual was a macabre dance of shadows and whispers, as Valarian manipulated the arcane energies that protected the artifact, ensuring it could be wielded only by him.

As dawn broke over the devastated village, the night's revelries had wound down, and Valarian, satisfied with the completion of his ritual, prepared his followers for departure. Their spirits were high, buoyed by the indulgences of the previous night. With confident strides and an air of invincibility, Valarian mounted his undead dragon, leading his dark entourage away from the remnants of the village, their path set towards further conquests and the unfolding of his sinister plans.