The air grew heavy and stale as I descended into the Catacombs of Carthus. A labyrinth of crumbling stone, filled with the echoes of restless dead. The flicker of my torch barely illuminated the shadows that clung to the walls like a second skin, but I didn’t need to see to feel the malice lurking within. Every step stirred the dust of the ancient dead, their spirits watching, waiting.
The traps came first—crude, but effective. Blades swinging from unseen mechanisms, rolling boulders of bone crashing through narrow corridors. The architects of this death maze had a grim sense of humor, but their ingenuity failed to stop me. They only delayed the inevitable. Skeletons rose from piles of bone, clattering to life as if summoned by my presence. Some wielded swords, others fired arrows with a precision no mortal archer could achieve. But bones are fragile, and my whip sang through the darkness, sending their shattered remains back into the dust.
Deeper into the catacombs, I encountered the Sand Warriors, faster and deadlier than their skeletal brethren. Their blades moved like dancers, striking with precision. But speed alone was no match for the fire of my soldering iron and the venom of my whip. One by one, they fell, their sand-like essence scattering into the air like ash.
Then, I reached the bridge—a frail, rotting construct that swayed with every step. Behind me, an ambush of skeleton warriors gathered, their clattering bones echoing in the vast cavern. A single lash of my whip severed the supports, sending them all tumbling into the abyss below. The sound of their breaking bones was almost satisfying.
Beyond the bridge, the stench of decay grew stronger, leading me to the tomb of High Lord Wolnir. A massive, darkened chamber stretched before me, filled with an oppressive miasma. From the blackness, Wolnir emerged—a colossal skeletal king, his presence alone a weight upon my chest. Gold and jewels adorned his massive form, but his rotting essence betrayed the illusion of grandeur. His laughter, deep and echoing, resonated through the tomb as he reached out with clawed hands to drag me into his abyss.
The fight was unlike any I had faced. His size dwarfed me, and his corrupted magic filled the air with death. I focused on the glowing bracelets shackling his wrists—symbols of his power and his curse. Each strike of my whip sent sparks flying, and my soldering iron seared his rotted bone, weakening the ancient bonds. Wolnir roared in fury, summoning waves of darkness and skeletal minions to his aid, but none could stop me. One by one, the bracelets shattered under my relentless assault.
With a final, earth-shaking cry, Wolnir collapsed into the void, his cursed soul consumed by the darkness he once ruled. The miasma lifted, and silence filled the tomb.
I claimed his soul, the weight of his defeat pressing against my palm. The Catacombs of Carthus now lay silent, their horrors vanquished. My path led onward—deeper into the heart of this decaying world, where greater challenges awaited. Wolnir was but another step, and I am far from finished.
The whole dark adventure of jailer Farah: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQRPy70pDgKUglWnmbEvEa7c-qy5S0je_
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