Chapter 63: City of the Dead

Chapter 63: City of the Dead

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. This chapter was first shared on the Ñøv€lß1n platform.

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.

Krulmvenor chaffed 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 the Krulmvenor, 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.”