Abyssal Depths

The Warlock stands at the precipice, peering into the void below. In the near-total darkness, the soft, rhythmic drip of water echoes through the vast chamber, each drop marking time like a distant heartbeat. Colossal, crumbling stairs spiral downward along the walls of the ancient Abyssal Well, vanishing into a sea of shadow. From the depths, a faint violet glow pulses upward, casting eerie, tentacle-like shadows that slither across the slick, cobbled stone.

Their hand tightens around the pommel of their pact-forged blade, its form called forth from the same darkness that now stirs beneath them. The glow intensifies, and with it, the shadows began to twitch—becoming less like a trick of the light, and more like otherworldly limbs stretching, reaching for them... Then comes the sound: a rising chorus of inhuman shrieks and screams, distorted and maddening, clawing their way up the shaft before abruptly vanishing into silence.

The Warlock’s heart pounds in their chest like a mouse hunted by a predatory bird, and it is only now do they realize they’ve been holding their breath. Slowly, deliberately, they exhale, and then draw in a lungful of cold, damp air to steel themselves. The memory of the pact gnaws at the edge of their thoughts—deceived, bound, but not yet broken. If there is a path to freedom, it lies below. With blade drawn and fate accepted, the Warlock steps forward and begins the long descent into the Abyssal Depths.