The light flickered, casting long, dancing shadows that made the goblin guards seem like monstrous puppets against the walls.
Their guttural laughs echoed, a sound that grated on my nerves worse than any screech of metal.
And above it all, on a throne carved from the very bedrock of the cavern, still sat Tharnok.
He was less a person and more a monument of black, featureless armor.
Not an inch of skin, not a hint of a face, was visible.
His helmet was a smooth, impenetrable shell, with no eye-slits, no grille for breathing, just polished, dark metal that drank the torchlight.
He hadn't moved since he mysteriously brought the three so-called 'awakened' back from their attempted escape.
He just sat there, a silent, judging idol, and the weight of his unseen gaze was a physical pressure on them.
The three men shifted their weight nervously.
The first awakened suddenly clenched his fists, his knuckles white.
