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The mist hung thick and suffocating over the swamp, swirling in low, ghostly tendrils that seemed to crawl across the ground like a living thing. It was as if the very air itself had become part of the swamp, heavy with moisture and the stench of decaying earth. Every step Artorius's army took was a struggle, each soldier pushing through the muck, their boots sinking into the wet, slick ground with every movement. The constant squelch of boots in the mud, the soft lapping of unseen waters, and the occasional croak of distant creatures formed a low, persistent soundtrack to their misery.
The soldiers were weary. The constant ambushes had taken their toll, though none dared show their fatigue. They had lost many soldiers in the past few days, the toll of attrition heavier with each skirmish. For every one of the aquatic drakes or serpents they killed, they lost two or three of their own. It was a grueling, drawn-out battle that they were barely holding on to, and every ambush left Artorius wondering if the enemy was ever truly gone or if they were just lying in wait, always just out of reach.
Artorius stood at the edge of a shallow marsh, his wings folded tight against his back, the faint heat of his body pushing the dampness of the air back in waves. His eyes scanned the horizon, but there was nothing but endless water and fog stretching out before them.
"Vareth," Artorius's voice broke the silence, rough with tension. "Any word from the scouts on the location of the base?" The scout emerged from the mist like a wraith, his face pale and drawn, eyes ringed with exhaustion. He bowed before the general and Artorius could already tell from his expression it spoke of failure.
"My lord," Vareth said, his voice strained. "I still cannot locate the Water Lindwurm's floating pavilion. It moves with the currents, and the marsh is too vast. Even with my abilities we've brought to bear, it eludes us."
Artorius clenched his fist. The pavilion had to be somewhere within the Misty Lakes, yet no matter how deep they pressed into the swamp, no matter how far they traveled, the elusive fortress of Kelthar remained just beyond their grasp.
"Then we keep searching," Artorius said. His tone was firm, but beneath the steel, there was frustration. They were losing precious time that was being measured in blood.
A crackling noise interrupted his thoughts as Ouroboros swooped down to land on his shoulder. The serpent had been a silent observer until now, but his eyes gleamed with an unspoken concern. "Artorius," Ouroboros spoke with a measured tone.
"We have pursued Kelthar for days now with no progress. The swamp is a labyrinth, and the Lindwurm is clearly aware of our presence. The water will not give up its secrets easily." The serpent's tongue flicked out. "Perhaps we should turn our attention elsewhere. We have another objective within these marshlands."
Artorius paused, "The Dungeon of the Misty Lake?" This was their second objective besides defeating the water Lindwurm. It would give them plenty of exp, treasures, and other powerful items.
"The dungeon could offer us what we need and more," Ouroboros continued. "Iit could be the key to breaking the deadlock. And perhaps, if we gain control of it, we can use it to flush out Kelthar from his hiding place."
Artorius's gaze turned toward the fog-drenched horizon. The thought of abandoning the search for Kelthar felt like a betrayal to his warriors, to everything they had set out to achieve. Yet, he couldn't ignore the truth in Ouroboros's words. The army was losing ground, and the constant skirmishes were whittling down his forces.
The murmurs and grumbling of his followers around him confirmed the inevitability of abandonment or mutiny happening. Artorius nodded grimly. "We will make for the dungeon," he said, his voice cold, unwavering. "Prepare the men. We move at once."
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As Artorius's army changed course, the swamp seemed to come alive with a new, more ominous energy. The ground grew even more treacherous, the air thicker, the mist heavier, as if the very swamp was pushing back against their intrusion.
The deeper they traveled into the heart of the Misty Lakes, the more hostile the terrain became. The marshlands were a tangle of hidden roots, murky waters, and dense thickets that blocked their path at every turn. Worse yet, the ambushes still came and they seemed more persistent and desperate as they searched for the dungeon.
Just from that alone, Artorius knew this was the right decision. Still the ambushes were not the only thing that they had to worry about in the Misty Lakes biome as there were plenty of dangers and obstacles abound in this land.
With each passing day, the swamp's challenges only increased. Paths that seemed clear one moment would shift, as if the land itself was shifting beneath their claws. Swampland pits and hidden quicksand traps slowed their progress, forcing the army to move with caution. The thick fog disoriented even the sharpest of minds, and on several occasions, small groups became separated and lost, only to be swallowed by the mist, never to return.
But Artorius had seen enough of the different biomes to know that it was not just the terrain that posed a threat. The swamp had guardians, ancient beasts and creatures of the lands that had long defended its secrets.
The first of these defenders came in the form of a wild dragon. It was an old creature, its scales a dark, iridescent green, glowing faintly in the gloom. A Mist Dragon, one of the swamp's primal forces, emerged from the mist as the army neared a hidden lagoon. Unlike the dragons Artorius commanded, this one was feral wild-eyed and driven by hunger and instinct rather than reason.
[Mist Dragon — Level 18]
It struck swiftly, from the shadows of the swamp. With a roar, it unleashed a torrent of mist that flooded the area, blinding and disorienting the army. The battle was fierce, but in the end, Artorius's dragons managed to overpower the Mist Dragon, though it cost them several warriors.
More creatures ambushed them. First came the Swamp Drakes, quick and deadly, attacking in packs, darting in and out of the murky waters with terrifying precision. Then, the Lake Serpent appeared, a massive, dark creature whose body spanned nearly fifty feet. Its skin was as smooth as obsidian, its mouth a gaping maw of sharp teeth that could snap through bone.
For hours, the army fought the serpent, its coils crushing everything in their path. It was a battle of attrition, each strike met with another, but the serpent would not relent. With a final, bone-rattling roar, the creature collapsed into the water, vanishing beneath the surface.
Then there were the restless spirits, the Marsh Wraiths ethereal beings who roamed the fog with a hunger for the living. Their presence was subtle at first, just a feeling, a cold chill on the back of the neck, a flicker of movement in the corner of one's eye. But when they struck, it was swift and silent. Some would wander off into the mist, never to return. Others would collapse, drained of life, their bodies husked and hollow.
Days blurred together as the army pushed on, but the swamp showed no mercy. They were now deep within the heart of the Misty Lakes, and the dangers came faster, more relentless. The terrain became increasingly difficult to navigate, with large patches of quicksand threatening to swallow the unwary, and deadly roots rising from the water, coiling around ankles and dragging the unwary down.
Still, there were moments of reprieve, however brief. The swamp was rich in hidden resources and pockets of rare herbs that could heal wounds and ease the weariness of the soldiers, though they had to be careful. Some of the plants here were as deadly as the creatures that stalked the waters.
Nevertheless, he was able to make progress on his side after slaying plenty of creatures as he got a prompt.
Congratulations! You have leveled up. Class: [Storybook Squire] → Lv. 14
The army trudged through the thick mist of the Misty Lakes, their bodies soaked, their spirits worn thin by days of endless battle against the swamp's brutal creatures. The fog was oppressive, a living thing that seemed to shift and crawl like a serpent, hiding dangers in its belly. Artorius's wings were damp from the wet air, his feet sinking into the muck as he walked ahead of his army, eyes narrowed against the fog.
His mind was focused solely on the goal ahead, they finally found the dungeon. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding, and the closer they came to the crypt's heart, the more the land seemed to twist and change, as though it were alive. "Stay close," Artorius muttered. "We're almost there."
And they were. The ground began to shift beneath their feet as they approached what looked to be a crypt's entrance. The stone archway that marked the dungeon's threshold was barely visible, half-submerged in the swamp's stagnant waters. Vines, thick with moss, hung down from the ceiling, and the stone itself was slick with age and decay.
The soldiers hesitated, eyeing the foreboding structure, but Artorius gave the order, and they pushed forward. The entrance was dark, the light from their torches flickering weakly against the oppressive blackness within. The moment they stepped across the threshold, the temperature seemed to drop by several degrees. A chill ran down Artorius's spine, and he felt the unmistakable weight of something ancient and malevolent watching them.
The walls of the crypt were adorned with carvings of dragons writing. Their eyes seemed to follow the soldiers as they passed, the images worn and cracked with age, but still strangely alive. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the ground beneath their feet was slick with moss and slime. Every step seemed to echo, a hollow sound that reverberated through the empty halls.
"What do you think this place is?" Artorius asked. The oppressive silence, the weight of the air, it was as though they had crossed into another realm altogether.
"A tomb," Ouroboros replied, his voice grim. "A place forgotten by time. And yet, here we are."
They moved cautiously, the soldiers forming a tight formation, weapons ready. The deeper they ventured into the crypt, the more the mist seemed to follow them, curling around their feet like a serpent coiling for the kill. It was almost as if the fog itself was alive, seeking to ensnare them in its clutches.
They came to a long, narrow hall, the walls lined with crumbling statues of long-dead dragons. The air was still, but then, just as they stepped inside, the whispers began. At first, it was nothing more than a murmur, barely audible, like the rustling of distant voices.
But then the whispers grew louder.
"Turn back…"
"You should have stayed in the swamp…"
"He is watching… He is waiting…"
The voices were soft, insistent, like the breath of a thousand dead souls. They came from every direction, echoing off the stone walls, and as they pressed on, the whispers grew louder, more frantic.
"Do not listen," Artorius commanded, though his own heart raced. There was something unsettling about those voices, something that twisted at the edges of his mind. But he knew better than to give in to it. He had faced far worse in his journey, and he would not be cowed by the phantoms of the crypt.
But some of the soldiers were not so strong. They stopped, their eyes wide, their faces pale as the voices seemed to seep into their minds, filling them with doubt and fear. Some began to tremble, their weapons shaking in their hands. Others reached out toward the walls as if they could hear something calling to them, something familiar.
"Stay focused!" Artorius barked. "We have a mission."
The deeper they ventured into the crypt, the more unsettling the atmosphere became. The walls were lined with sarcophagi, cracked open and spilling foul-smelling liquids into the air. The bodies within were nothing more than rotting husks, their once-glorious armor and weapons rusted and decayed.
But there was something more to these tombs. As they approached, the air grew thick with an unnatural chill. And then, from the shadows, they came, the skeletal warriors of the crypt. These were the cursed protectors, the ancient guardians bound to this place by a dark force. They rose from the tombs, their eyes glowing with malevolent light, their skeletal hands clutching rusted blades. They were faster than expected, their movements unnatural, jerking like marionettes with a mind of their own.
Artorius drew his weapon, his wings unfurling. "Prepare for battle!" he roared.
The clash was brutal. The skeletal warriors were relentless, their attacks fueled by an ancient rage. The army fought valiantly, but the tombs seemed to endlessly replenish their ranks. For each skeletal warrior that fell, another rose in its place, and soon the crypt was filled with the sound of metal clashing against bone, of cries and roars echoing through the hall.
Deeper into the dungeon, the tests became more intense. Some parts of the crypt seemed to test the warriors' endurance, sending waves of poisonous gas or causing the very ground beneath their feet to tremble with violent quakes. The temperature fluctuated wildly, going from freezing cold to suffocating heat in mere moments. These environmental hazards drained the energy from even the most seasoned of the warriors, forcing them to rely on each other to continue.
There were moments of silence, moments of eerie calm where nothing seemed to move. But the stillness was never truly peaceful. It was during these lulls that the dungeon would strike the hardest. Some of the soldiers began to fall ill, suffering from strange afflictions that no healer could explain. Fevered dreams plagued them, and whispers of madness began to spread among the ranks. It was clear that the dungeon was not just testing their physical strength, but also their minds.
They pressed on, moving through endless chambers, each one presenting a different challenge. Some hallways narrowed to the point where only one soldier could pass at a time, forcing them to separate and face the trials alone. Other rooms were vast and cavernous, filled with shifting shadows that made it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of challenges, the army reached the final chamber. A vast, foreboding hall stretched out before them, its walls lined with ancient statues and carvings of forgotten dragons. The air was thick with the weight of history, and the ground beneath them pulsed with a strange energy.
Artorius's grip tightened on his lance. The soldiers murmured amongst themselves, unease creeping into their hearts. "Steady," Artorius commanded, his voice the anchor in the growing chaos. "We've come too far to turn back now."
At the end of the long hall, they came upon a massive chamber, the walls slick with condensation and the air thick with the weight of ages. The ceiling arched far above them, but the shadows seemed to stretch infinitely, as though the fog had swallowed the chamber entirely.
Suddenly, from the center of the room, a low, mournful moan reverberated through the air. The mist in the room twisted and thickened, swirling in violent vortices, pulling inward like a storm gathering force. From the heart of the fog, a figure began to emerge. It was massive, its form barely discernible, shifting like smoke and shadow. Eyes, glowing with the light of a hundred lost souls, gleamed through the dense fog.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/139259813466448288/
[Fog Wraith — Level 25]
It was the Fog Wraith, a creature born from the mist itself, grown far larger and more powerful than the wraiths they had previously encountered. This wraith was a towering figure of mist and shadows, its form fluid and ever-changing. The air itself seemed to bend and warp around it as it moved, and the temperature dropped even further.
The ground beneath their feet shuddered as the Fog Wraith let out a bone-chilling screech, its voice a cacophony of lost souls, mournful and terrible. The mist in the chamber thickened, and suddenly, the entire room was consumed in a dense fog so thick that even Artorius's keen senses could barely pierce it.
Artorius stood at the forefront, his lance held steady, he called upon the Word of Flame, creating bursts of fire that illuminated the fog, pushing it back for brief moments. The flames seared through the mist, but each time, the fog returned, thicker than before. "Move in!" he commanded.
Durnoth stood tall at the heart of the infantry. The hulking commander of the Ironclad was a wall of iron and flesh, his voice like thunder as he bellowed orders to his forces. "Shieldbearers, to the front!" he roared, and the soldiers snapped into formation, the heavy shields of the frontlines locking together like a wall of iron.
"Archers, take to the skies!" Gryssira called out, her archers launched the first volley of arrows into the swirling fog. The winged archers flew in tight formation, their longbows drawn and arrows loosed. The mist tried to obscure their targets, but the archers were prepared. With quick, practiced movements, they kept firing arrows, their aim true, guided by the practiced instinct of seasoned warriors.
The arrows rained down, though the fog swallowed most of them before they could find their mark. Still, each burst of fire and smoke from the flame bombs and heavy bolts mounted on their backs pushed the fog back, if only for a moment. Their goal was not to defeat the Wraith outright, but to create an opening, a momentary lapse in the mist's suffocating hold.
The scouts, led by Vareth and Velkra, had already begun their operations. Vareth's group of stealthy warriors, accustomed to operating in the shadows, used the cover of the mist to infiltrate the Wraith's swirling mass. The first priority was locating the creature's vulnerabilities.
Then came the retaliation from the creature as tendrils of mist shot out from the Wraith's form, cutting through the air with speed that no normal human or dragon could react to in time. These tendrils wrapped around soldiers like serpents, crushing bones and pulling them into the heart of the storm.
Artorius gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowed in focus. He stepped forward, thrusting his lance into the fog, but it was impossible to target the creature's true form. The Wraith was everywhere at once, its body constantly shifting and reforming.
"Try to hold it down," he called out to the black dread. It swooped down from the air. His Black Flame roared through the mist, slashing through the fog in a wave of consuming darkness. The flames cut through the mist, but it only seemed to retreat, as if the Wraith was merely dancing out of reach.
Then without further ado he called upon the word of crystal to trap it as crystal started growing on its body, slowing it down then they started becoming too heavy it got weighed down.
"Melt it," he called out with a savage grin as his soldiers started throwing everything at it. The wraith screeched, a terrible, unearthly cry, but it wasn't enough to quell the flames that surrounded it.
The scouts struck at the heart of the Wraith's form. They moved like shadows, slipping through cracks in the Wraith's defenses, hitting it from behind, stabbing into the thick mist. It wasn't enough to kill the Wraith, but it was enough to create moments of vulnerability.
The damage poured on as Artorius's forces were relentless. They fought with purpose, each unit playing its role in this deadly dance with the fog. The Hammer, the Teeth, and the Eyes moved as one, pressing against the Wraith's impenetrable form.
But then, just as it seemed they were on the verge of victory, the wraith's true strength revealed itself.
Its eyes flared with a ghastly, eerie light, and the mist around it grew darker, denser, as if feeding on the very souls of the fallen soldiers. Those too close to the creature staggered, their minds clouded and their strength drained. It was a horrifying sight: the very life force of Artorius's soldiers was being consumed by the wraith, like a cruel vampire draining its prey.
"Fall back!" Durnoth bellowed, but it was too late. Several soldiers fell to their knees, their bodies trembling as the fog seemed to leech away their vitality.
In that moment, Zoklath took to the skies as he used his most powerful ability, Black Meteor Shower. The sky cracked open as massive streaks of dark flaming rocks rained down upon the wraith. Each meteor was like a bomb crashing into the beast, turning the fog into a swirling inferno. The wraith screamed in agony as the meteors exploded around it, shattering the thick mist that clung to it.
In an instant, the wraith dissolved into the very mist, becoming intangible, a mere shadow in the fog. The meteors, though devastating, struck nothing but empty air. The beast reappeared behind the group mostly intact and let out another wailing shriek that threatened to break the resolve of Artorius's forces.
The battle had reached its breaking point. The soldiers, despite their efforts, had nothing left. The wraith was tireless, its power unyielding, and its form all but invincible. But Artorius would not be undone.
He had been busy fusing his Word of Crystal and Word of Flame and the attack at the point it thought it was invincible and about to defeat them.
The wraith screamed in agony as the searing energy coursed through its form, its body shattering into nothingness, consumed by the force of the combined powers. The fog parted, and for a moment, all was still.
And then, with one final, deafening wail, the Fog Wraith collapsed, its form disintegrating into smoke and mist, leaving nothing behind but the lingering scent of decay. You have slain [Fog Wraith — Level 25]
Congratulations! You have leveled up. Race: [True-Blood DragonMen] → Lv. 15
Stat gains: +1 STR, +1 DEX, +1 CON, +1 PER, +1 CHA
Congratulations! You have leveled up. Archetype: [Leader] → Lv. 15
Stat gains: +1 INT, +1 WIL, +1 CHA
"Nice," he said as he pumped his fist. Two level ups all at once. He had been close for a while now and he finally crossed the threshold. His goal was to hopefully reach level 20 across the board so he could have any chance against the White Lady.
He needed every edge he could get whether it be stats, abilities and treasures. As the mist began to clear, Artorius stepped forward, his lance still crackling with residual energy. He surveyed the wreckage of the battlefield, his soldiers regrouping and tending to the fallen.
It was then that something caught his eye, a glint amidst the mist's remnants. He approached cautiously, pushing aside the fog, and there, lying among the scattered remnants of the wraith's broken form, he found something new. A cloak, its fabric shimmering with an otherworldly sheen, shifting and rippling as though it were alive. The cloak seemed to flicker in and out of reality, as though it could not decide whether to be fully visible or not.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/49961877108694471/
He used inspect on it and saw it read: Mist Cloak(Unique) - The wearer can teleport short distances within line of sight. It grants the wearer the ability to move in and out of reality, slipping between the cracks of space itself.
Then they found two class tokens, one for Weaver, a craft class and the other scout. He handed them to his soldiers that performed the best in the fight.
The last item was an eerie orb which read; Lifedrain Orb(Uncommon) - Able to drain the lifeforce from anyone within a couple feet.
This item he gave to the Black dread since he performed the best in this fight and was also his second hardest hitter after him. Plus the poor dragon lost his home due to him and got dragged off to war, this could at least appease him.
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Continuing, Artorius and his army entered the Trial chamber, their steps heavy on the cold stone floor. The air around them felt charged, as if the very atmosphere held its breath in anticipation. The walls of the cavernous space were lined with intricate, shifting runes that pulsed faintly in and out of existence, as though they were alive, watching him. A steady hum seemed to vibrate through the ground, like the quiet whisper of a long-forgotten power.
At the center of the room stood a massive structure, a towering telescope, its length stretching from the ground to the high vaulted ceiling. It was made of gleaming silver, intricate glass lenses affixed to a polished frame, and faintly glowing crystalline veins that ran along its length, humming with a soft energy. The telescope was unlike anything Artorius had seen before. It pulsed with an unearthly light, refracting the very essence of the room itself into fractured patterns.
Ouroboros slithered up beside him, eyes narrowed. "Want to try your luck?" he asked.
Artorius glanced at his army, the weight of their hopeful eyes upon him. After everything they had been through, this was his trial alone. He stepped forward, his gaze steady and focused, as the telescope seemed to beckon him, the hum of its energy pulling at his senses.
He ascended a set of steps, his wings brushing the air, and approached the great lens of the telescope. The glass was unnaturally smooth, gleaming with a strange, reflective light that seemed to distort the very air around it. The moment his hand touched the lens, the world around him shifted.
In an instant, the room seemed to stretch, the walls bending and warping as the telescope's lens expanded, and Artorius found himself looking out at an endless expanse of stars. A vast cosmic sea spread out before him, galaxies swirling in the distance like living creatures, their colors and shapes shifting with every blink.
"What do you see, Artorius? What do you truly perceive?" a voice echoed in his mind, deep and ancient, yet strangely comforting. Amidst the beauty of this celestial expanse, Artorius's gaze was drawn to something far more magnificent: dragons.
Great, celestial dragons flew through the cosmos. They were beings of pure power, their forms radiant with energy. Their scales shimmered like stardust, their wings vast, gliding effortlessly through the void. Their eyes were burning embers of wisdom, ancient and knowing, the very essence of the cosmos themselves.
These dragons were not like the dragons of the nest. They were too old to be understood. The dragons moved through the heavens like blades through the dark, their form were too vast to comprehend in one glance.
Then one looked at him and then his mind fractured. When its gaze met his, the universe seemed to collapse. The stars blinked out, the galaxies swirling in chaotic disarray, and time itself felt as though it had stopped.
The dragon's gaze cut deeper than his skin, deeper than his bones, piercing the very core of his mind. He began to scream but his voice was lost in the cosmos, swallowed whole by the silence.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, the world shattered again. Artorius found himself back in the chamber. The telescope stood in front of him, its lens gleaming faintly. The walls of the room, once so alive with energy, now seemed quiet, empty. The pulsing light faded to a dull glow, leaving only the echoes of what he had witnessed. Artorius staggered backward, gasping for breath. His body trembled. His eyes were wide, he had seen so much.
[Trial of Sight — Complete]
Reward: +3 Perception
Ouroboros slithered forward, his voice soft with a hint of concern. "Are you alright?"
Artorius didn't respond. He couldn't. The weight of what he had witnessed crushed his thoughts. The dragons above were those the true masters of the dragon eyrie?!
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A/N: Misty cloak is based on mistborn series cloak.
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Chapter 22 Recap!
Leveled up Class: [Storybook Squire] → Lv. 14
Leveled up Race: [True-Blood DragonMen] → Lvl. 15
+1 STR, +1 DEX, +1 CON, +1 PER, +1 CHA
Leveled up Archetype: [Leader] → Lv. 15
Stat gains: +1 INT, +1 WIL, +1 CHA
[Trial of Sight — Complete] +3 Perception Gained