The Dark Idol
This is the article for the Dark Idol short story, go to Dark Idol for the article on the magic item.
Upon taking a mysterious dark idol from a wizard's collection, Rowan Whitlock used the Tome of Lore on it to learn about it's secrets. The following story appeared.
The Dark Idol
A massive thud suddenly shakes the entire workshop. Echoes bounce off the far walls of the cave, returning an equally deafening boom through the open window to the girl's left. Panic sets in on the master craftsman's face as he looks to the standing clock in the corner.
“They are early. We weren't meant to meet for another two bells. You'd better hurry your lazy hands before they cause me any more trouble. They surely will not be happy to hear that you’ll keep them waiting.”
The girl quickens her work, though the delicate nature of the magical matrices make any expedition difficult. Sweat beads on her furrowed brow as the master storms out of the room. She does her best not to be distracted by the master's performative reception she hears outside; she is barely able to decipher his words anyway.
Her dexterous fingers continue at the grueling pace until an aura so vile it cannot be ignored permeates the very air. Her eyes dart to the window as a powerful darkness washes through. She finds herself helpless against her morbid curiosity as she stands breathless. She silently creeps to the window, fearful to draw any attention from the sinister energy she can sense.
Rows of enormous stalactites on which the city is built sprawl out across the ceiling of the massive cave. Bioluminescent fungi reflect upon the surface of the lake that lies beneath the hanging spires that had only recently become familiar to her. A new sight, however, consumes her attention as she finally reaches the window; a titanic black creature, wrapped in leathery wings, dark like an abyss hangs from the cave ceiling. The only suggestion of a face visible in the small crack between the wings are two piercing red eyes, burning like hatred and fury.
Now close enough to make out the conversation, she hangs on every word.
“My lord, I implore you. I do not mean any disrespect. I have worked tirelessly and have employed the most talented of helpers to finish your task. It has been the utmost priority!”
The crafter knew that was a lie. Not only had the master taken on multiple jobs that lined his pockets well, he never dirtied his hands to help her or the others finish a job anymore. She didn't even know if he was still skilled or knowledgeable enough to help.
“Lord Night, I assure you…”
With lightning speed, a long, wiry hand flashes out from the folds of the wings and pierces the man's chest.
A quiet, low, yet immensely powerful voice vibrates the air.
your assurances mean nothing.
The hand erupts from his chest, a bloody viscera follows in its wake. The lifeless thump of his skull as it limply cracks into the ground is not enough to cover the slight gasp she lets escape her lips.
The blood red eyes find her gaze. Terror floods the girl's mind as her knees give out from under her. In unintelligible panic, her instincts send her crawling back to her desk. She will pretend she saw nothing, she thinks. She will go back to the desk, finish the work, pretend like nothing has happened, and it will assuredly spare her. She crawls to the far side of her table with her back to the door. Her knees nearly betray her as she feebly stands.
A heavy weight lands on the balcony outside the workshop, sending a shock wave straight into her bones. Tears stream down the girl's face and fall to the table, her hands too frantic to wipe them from her eyes. She knows she cannot finish in time, but her self-preservation prevents her from stopping.
A long, slow creak of the shop door rings out, the same one the guildmaster had hit her for forgetting to oil just the night before. She cannot stop the fearful sobs, though she dare not glance back. Her voice is desperate, begging.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry I've been too slow, I'm sorry. I can hurry and finish. PLEASE DON'T…”
i will not hurt you… i am sorry for how that monster treated you on my behalf.
Its gravelly voice vibrates the entire room, yet it's soft enough that she can barely hear it. It feels like sandpaper against her eardrums, yet carries a pained tenderness.
Feeling less threat of her impending death, she slowly turns to the creature. Surprise paints her face at what she finds. A demonic, harrowing, dark creature sits as small as any man, rocking in a chair in the far corner. Its two small wings now shade its almost-scrawny body from the dancing lights she had conjured earlier, yet its eyes continue to shimmer with a red sourceless glow.
please, if you are able, finish what it is you are working on. it is of great importance to me. do not rush yourself. i am perfectly content to wait.
Her wavering eyes fixate on them as if the moment she looks away they will bluntly rip her still-beating heart from her chest, just as they did to her guildmaster. They sit there, small yet unwavering. When she finally catches her breath, wipes her face, and turns away, there is no assault. With a profound new calmness, she goes back to her work with expert confidence.
Her hands find the diamond tipped chisel and the large chunk of mournshard that she had been working since she had dug it up herself, having found it at an ancient burial ground digsite. A rare and difficult to work material, but the only one capable of holding the substantial ethereal rod that was currently being suspended in a magical matrix to her right. Mournshard had an abnormal ability to interact with and contain ethereal objects. When she had originally cracked the large crystal off, a ghastly shriek nearly put her in a grave herself. She decided it must've been the trapped ghost of one “Zeno Ferosie” after finding the attributed granite slab nearby.
It had already been a full bell by the time she finishes carving. It had been an annoying task. Though she was quite skilled at carving, she had thought it to be a waste of her talents in magical item construction to focus so long on carving the idol so intricately, risking weakening its magical integrity only to make it look like some bat-like demon. Now, as she peeks back over her shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time, at least she understood why it had to look as such.
Readying herself, she lowers the idol over the invisible ethereal rod, then manipulates the matrix to move two cross sticks of similar material to hold it in place. She insets a red gemstone in front of each, casting a minor enchantment to secure them and their contained stick. The gems also represent the eyes of the idol's appearance.
It perplexes her, as she lifts the now complete construction from the matrix, as to what the purpose of this extremely odd contraption was, given that she would not be the one to cast the final enchantment. She was merely talented at building the framework for magical items.
The idol was odd to handle. The ethereal rod provided no tangible weight to the piece, yet it was difficult to move as if it was slow to inertia or was being constantly dragged through sludge on its lower half. She knew it to surely be a side effect of the nearly 100 foot long ethereal rod that had been such a pain to construct.
She turns back to the statuesque creature that still remained rocking back and forth on the chair.
“I'm… I'm ummm… Lord Night I've finished.”
With two hands she extends the idol with the invisible rod extending far below her. They slowly look up to her, still shielding their eyes to the work light. Noticing their hesitation, she dismisses the summoned illumination. Now bathed in the natural muted glow of the cave, they gently retract their wings to finally reveal their monstrous face, war-torn and scarred. Hardened beyond years, yet eyes soft and gentle. They stand and stride forward. She places it on the table respectfully and takes a large step back, averting her gaze so as to not study every element of the creature's gnarled face, stories and history etched into every pock and fold. By the time she looks up not a moment later, they are already at the door, idol in hand.
you are as talented as i had heard. i am sorry that i had acquired your services through unfortunate means. you did not deserve that unkindness.
The creature opens the door. The slow creak reveals a pool of blood surrounding the collapsed guildmaster.
there is no place in this world for tyrants. not once i have a say in it.
The creature takes two large steps to the edge of the balcony and falls forward. The crafter runs to the window just in time to see a massive shadow soaring barely above the sparkling waters of the lake below, into the darkness beyond.
