The Water Temple

by Luke Thomas

Dear Diary,

The weight of time presses against us. If the Briar Ring truly seeks to expand fey influence, then we must move swiftly — but not blindly. I turned my studies to the old Water Temple, long buried beneath the shattered stones of the Lorerun bridge. The histories are fragmented, but I gathered three truths. The temple was devoted to understanding how water binds the planes, flowing through unseen rivers that connect them. It was abandoned in haste after one experiment tore open portals they had not foreseen. And though it lies beneath the river, much of its chambers were once kept dry with clever devices, flooding and draining at will.

We gathered at dawn. Hayley prepared a ritual that would allow us to breathe underwater, though none of us relished the idea of drowning should it fail. We marched south along the river, following the shadow of Keralon’s walls into the gloom. The forest presses ever closer. The fey’s whispers were thick in the mist — mocking laughter, lilting music, half-formed songs. In the northern wall, we passed an enclave where the fey dwell openly, their homes slipping between seasons — one blanketed in snow, another draped in blossoms. It was a cruel reminder of Haven.

At last, we reached the ruins of the bridge. The broken pillars jutted out of the water like the bones of some dead giant, some pressed into service as makeshift piers. The current was strong, dragging us as we descended. The riverbed dropped sharply, until we found it: the black, silent shape of a building deep below, half-swallowed by silt. I called on my magic to see through the dark, and together we entered.

Inside was a flooded hall with glass windows improbably intact. Crabs scuttled in the corners, and sprawled across the stones was a sahuagin, shark-headed and smiling with too many teeth. His grin widened when he saw Alistan, but I was faster — a fireball blossomed in the depths, boiling the water, killing two crabs outright. The sahuagin barely reeled before lunging at Alistan, but Gael’s arrow pierced his throat, ending it. More of its kind surged from the shadows, and I hurled another fireball, the river around us crackling with heat. At last their priests yielded, lowering their weapons.
We bound them and I wove comprehension into my tongue. Their words were broken, their fear stronger than their loyalty. Through them, another voice entered my mind. Their master. It offered me a bargain: the Heart of Water, in exchange for knowledge of the rituals once performed here — interplanar summonings, experiments on the very fabric of reality. I refused. No being who commands sahuagin can be trusted. We negotiated instead — the gem, and in return we leave it be, so long as it does not trouble us.

Dadroz tried the first door, only to be shocked back. Another yielded, leading us into a waterlogged laboratory. The walls were etched with runes that responded to my hand, draining the chamber once the doors were sealed. The air was stale, and the books had long since rotted, but scraps remained. Their diaries spoke of “frequencies” to reach other planes, and of a crystal that served as the key — no doubt the gem I seek. One entry whispered of an unknown frequency, a door to a place unnamed. Once our search was complete, the ceiling rained down until the room was full again. When we stepped back out, our sahuagin captives had vanished.

The next hall led us to doors lit with red and green light. Simple warding spells. Beyond the green one, we found supplies turned to rot, and the skeletons of researchers who had made their camp by glowing crystals, only to never return home. Their diary told the end of it — they tuned to a frequency that called cephalopod horrors into the temple. Safety wards triggered, flooding half the complex, and sealing them inside. A disaster buried in silence. The master in my mind whispered again, begging to return home. But I did not trust its words.

We ascended into the temple proper, where research gave way to worship. The halls were half-flooded, echoing strangely. At the far end hung a great blue sphere, pulsing faintly. As I extended my senses, a tentacle lashed from the shadows, nearly dragging Liliana away. She tore free, and a squid the size of a house glided out of the dark. It struck at me, and though my magical shield spell turned aside one blow, its teeth found my arm. Then, as swiftly as it came, it vanished back into the depths.

I called forth a stone elemental, but another squid tore it apart before it could strike. From the darkness came the true master — a Morkoth, warped and terrible, reflecting spells and twisting minds. I dared not hurl my magic at it, so I turned instead on its kin. Alistan charged, mounted on my sister in her crocodile form, while Gael’s arrows found their mark until a squid turned on him, driving him to flee.
I felt its mind, vast and alien, pressing against mine. I tore into it — a raw rip into something older than men should touch. When I withdrew, the squid was dead, drifting lifeless in the current, its tentacles slack. We kept fighting into the damp depths of the temple, until the Morkoth and the squids were all gone…
Now nothing else remains but to claim the Heart of Water…

— Luke

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The Water Temple

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