In the eerie silence that followed the battle, Kyrntar's gaze locked onto the two newcomers. He could feel it—the darkness that clung to them. The weight of suspicion bore down on him as he studied them.
Before him, the Loxodon towered, his immense form clad in armor that shimmered faintly in the dim light, as though untouched by the decay around them. His presence was imposing, a silent testament to strength and discipline, yet Kyrntar's eyes narrowed, seeing beyond the polished exterior. The Kenku at his side, smaller but no less formidable, held a different kind of power. Her feathers, as dark as the shadows from which she had materialized, framed eyes that gleamed with cold, calculating intelligence. She was silent—too silent. Her stillness made her more dangerous, more unknowable.
Kyrntar's voice cut through the silence, steady but laced with suspicion. "I don't know what brought you here, but people don't just show up in cursed places without a reason."
His sword remained poised, its edge glinting in the faint light as if ready to meet another enemy. He took a slow step toward them, his posture unyielding. "You held your own back there, I'll give you that. But this place reeks of old, dark magic. No one sane willingly walks into this kind of mess. So, what are you after?"
The Loxodon stepped forward, his massive frame casting a deeper shadow across the stone. His voice rumbled like distant thunder, calm but weighty. "I am Druvon, bound by oath to seek redemption in places where light falters. Darkness stirs here, and we come to quell it."
Kyrntar's eyes flickered with doubt as he shifted his focus to the Kenku, whose silence felt louder with each passing moment. "And her? She just gonna stand there, watching? What's her deal?"
Kyrntar's gaze lingered on the Kenku, her silence more unsettling with every passing moment. Druvon, noticing the suspicion in his eyes, stepped in. "She's a Kenku," he explained, his tone steady. "They can't speak with their own voice. But don't let that deceive you—it doesn't take away from her skill, as you've already seen.She has her reasons for walking in shadows, as do I."
Kyrntar's gaze returned to Vikra, her silence more unsettling than any words might have been. "Silent, huh? That doesn't make me trust her more."
Vikra's eyes never wavered. There was something unnerving in the way she watched him—her eyes, unblinking and predatory, seemed to see more than she should, as if peeling back the layers of his own defenses. Her hands rested lightly on the twin daggers at her side, but it wasn't a threat; it was an assurance, a promise that she could act with deadly precision if needed.
Kyrntar's lips curled into a grim smile, though the mistrust in his eyes deepened. "Oaths, silence, shadows… these are the things of secrets and deception. And in a place like this, I've learned to trust neither."
He began to circle them slowly, his sword still ready, the tension thickening. "If you're here for the same reason as me, then be straight about it. I don't have time for secrets."
Druvon's gaze was unwavering, meeting Kyrntar's suspicions with calm resolution. "We seek to rid this place of the evil festering within. Nothing more."
Kyrntar stepped back, raising his hand and channeling the divine light of his Healing Hands. A soft, radiant glow washed over his battered form, knitting wounds together with a gentle warmth. The power soothed his body, but the tension in his muscles remained. His sword stayed poised, ready, as his eyes flicked between the two strangers.
With a hopeful lift to his voice, Kyrntar addressed them, his usual heroic determination shining through, "You didn't have to step in back there. Could've let those creatures finish me off. But you didn't. Why?"
Druvon stepped forward, his broad figure imposing but measured, his warhammer resting at his side. His deep voice carried the weight of someone who rarely questioned his path. "Because we hunt the same evil," he rumbled. "This place is infested with more than just bones. There's something far worse at its heart. Vikra and I, we've tracked it here."
Vikra, the silent shadow at Druvon's side, cocked her head ever so slightly, her dark feathers ruffling as if in amusement. She raised a brow at Kyrntar, her sharp eyes rolling just enough to make her thoughts clear: 'Really? You needed an explanation for that?' Her fingers twitched towards the hilt of her daggers, tapping them lightly as if to remind him that words weren't her strong suit—but actions, those she excelled at.
Kyrntar's grip on his sword tightened, though there was no malice in it—just the ingrained caution of a man who'd seen too many betrayals. "I appreciate the help," he admitted, a trace of sincerity in his voice, "but let's be clear. If you're here for the same reason I am, we're on the same side. But if either of you has another agenda, if you turn on me, I'll stop you without hesitation." He tried to sound resolute, but his tone carried a note of hope, of wanting to believe they were allies.
Druvon nodded slowly, his tusks gleaming under the faint light, his expression unshakable. "We seek only to cleanse this place, Paladin. Nothing more. This darkness threatens us all." There was pride in his stance, a quiet confidence in his strength. But there was also a hint of something more—perhaps uncertainty. Could this paladin help him rid the temple of its curse, or would he simply get in the way?
Vikra, for her part, was less impressed. She gave a quick flick of her dagger, the movement swift and deliberate, as if to say, 'Don't worry, I'll handle anything that comes our way.' Her eyes gleamed with a cynical humor, the corners of her beak-like mouth lifting in a barely-there smirk.
Kyrntar smiled despite himself, glancing toward the darkened corridor ahead. "Well then," he said, voice lifting with the familiar determination of a hero ready to lead. "Let's finish what we've started." He took a step forward, the weight of destiny heavy on his shoulders, but his heart light with the hope that these strange companions might, just might, be the allies he needed.
As they ventured deeper into the temple, the air grew thicker, more suffocating, each breath feeling like a weight pressing down on their lungs. The torchlight flickered, casting erratic shadows that crawled along the walls, their jagged movements reflecting the unease Kyrntar felt. The glowing symbols etched into the stone seemed to pulse with a rhythm, as though the very temple was alive, breathing in the same oppressive darkness they were now engulfed in.
Kyrntar led the group, his every step deliberate, his grip on his sword tight but not from confidence—from the growing worry that gnawed at him. Edric and Marra… he had to believe they were safe. But the silence, the shadows, and the creeping sense of something watching them all whispered otherwise. His eyes constantly scanned the walls for traps, for signs of the malevolent force he had come to face, but also for any indication of his friends' fate. His heart, despite the weight of the situation, refused to give up hope. He had to save them.
Beside him, Vikra moved like a wraith, her footsteps soundless, her presence barely detectable if not for the occasional glint of torchlight catching her dark feathers. She tilted her head toward Kyrntar, her expression unreadable but her movements betraying an edge of impatience. She mimicked a yawn, a comical stretch of her arms, and then a pointed look at Kyrntar's tense shoulders. 'Relax, or you'll get a cramp,' her gesture seemed to say. Her eyes sparkled with a quiet amusement, though beneath it, the same sharp readiness as before.
Kyrntar allowed a breath to escape, acknowledging her attempt to lighten the mood, but his gaze remained locked ahead.
Behind them, Druvon's massive form moved with a deliberate stillness, his golden armor gleaming faintly in the dim light. The Loxodon was a walking fortress, each step heavy with the weight of his strength and conviction. His silence wasn't unnerving, but rather resolute—there was no need for words where his presence was enough to speak volumes. When Kyrntar glanced back, seeking some unspoken reassurance, Druvon's expression remained unmoved, his face as solid and unreadable as the stone around them.
"You worry, paladin," Druvon rumbled, his voice low, resonant, like the earth itself had decided to speak. There was no question in his tone—just fact.
Kyrntar nodded, not even bothering to hide the tension that still gripped him. "I do. My companions they are strong, but this place… it's different. Darker than anything I've seen."
Druvon's gaze never wavered, his stoicism unyielding. "If they are strong, then they will survive. If not, we move forward without them."
Kyrntar's jaw tightened at Druvon's cold pragmatism. "That's not how I work. We don't leave anyone behind."
Druvon raised his trunk slightly, a slow, deliberate gesture, as if weighing Kyrntar's words. "Sometimes, the light must leave the weak in darkness to achieve its purpose." His eyes, dark and steady, locked onto Kyrntar's. "You've sworn to defeat this evil, not save everyone from it."
"Do you not embrace that evil by letting others die, simply to serve your goal?" Kyrntar spat back. Anger filled his eyes at the thought of losing his friends. His body and arms tensed and though he was slightly smaller than the loxodon, he refused to be pushed to the side like a naive child.
The temple remained silent, almost as if it was waiting for Druvon's response.
Kyrntar's heart pounded as Druvon's towering form loomed closer, his warhammer raised ever so slightly. The paladin's hand instinctively tightened on his sword hilt—was this ally about to become an enemy?