CHAPTER 73: THE ALTAR OF ABSURD ARTIFACTS

Quest Update: "Survive the Junkyard Jamboree"

Objective: Reach the altar of cursed curios and claim its prize without losing your mind or your dignity.

Reward: A gaudy relic, maybe a clue to Valthorne’s legacy.

Failure: You’re the lair’s new jester, crowned with eternal embarrassment.

The carnival cavern loomed, its rune-carved walls pulsing like a flea market gone feral, casting flickering light on the cluttered, sticky floor. The air reeked of sour wine, moth-eaten velvet, and the faint stench of a bad life choice, making every step feel like a gamble against a carnie’s curse. I gripped the Heart of Glimmerfen, its loaf-shaped glow throbbing like it was yelling, You’re doomed, Cecil! The Wyrm’s Quill buzzed, flickering like a bar sign on its last spark. In my pocket, the Scone of Secrets pulsed, its raisin-studded warmth humming like it was whispering, You’re so screwed. The Baguette of Boundless Beginnings and Chalice of Cheesy Charms, slung on my belt, felt like they were judging my soul. My coat was a wreck—torn, singed, glittering like a disco ball that had lost a fight with a junk heap—but I felt a fire, like my old Loafbearer powers were merging with the quill’s chaotic energy. I was Cecil Dreggs, the guy who’d once knocked over a lantern and accidentally started a tavern fire that became a local ballad. If I could survive a cursed clown head and outwit a tavern keeper, I could conquer this carnival and maybe prove I was more than a walking disaster.

My crew stumbled along, weapons out, looking like they’d rather be at a tavern than dodging enchanted junk. Lilith spun her scythe, red eyes glaring at the runes like they’d stolen her last shot. "Cecil, if you trigger another trap, I’ll tie you to that clown head and let it serenade you with bad jokes." Her smirk was sharper than a barmaid’s wit, but her eyes held respect, like she figured I might survive the night.

Vorren hulked forward, his knife gleaming like it was ready to gut the cavern. "If we die, I’m taking that orb, scone, baguette, chalice, your coat, and whatever’s left of your reputation." His growl rumbled like a bouncer ready to toss a drunk, but he stuck close, like he almost believed in me.

Jex, coated in glitter and wine stains, whimpered like a kid in a cursed circus. "No snacks, no weapons, just freaky doom! I’m done for!" His voice cracked, echoing CRASH like a dropped jug.

Yvra glided forward, her dress defying the grime like it was beneath her royal status. "Cecil, if you drag us into another fiasco, I’ll exile you to a circus dungeon and bury you in royal ticket stubs." Her tone was frost, but her eyes lingered on the Heart and chalice, intrigued.

Mister Fog floated above, sipping tea that reeked of burnt dreams and carnie secrets. "The Heart, scone, baguette, and chalice are linked, Cecil, but your focus wobbles like a juggler with a hangover. Channel it, or we’re all carnival fodder." His calm was maddening, but it kept me grounded.

Sir Thrain, covered in glitter and crumbs, raised his lance. "For the crown’s circus honor!" He charged, tripped over a cracked tambourine, and slammed BANG into junk. "Dishonorable rubbish!" he groaned, helmet spinning like a carousel.

Sir Gorrim, his mustache a sticky mess of glitter and dust, waved his broken hilt. "By valor’s grace!" He slipped on a chipped jug, crashing THUD into junk. "Cursed trash!" he wheezed, flailing like a knight in a scrap heap.

I twirled the quill, flashing a grin despite the crew’s groans. "Chill, team! We’ve got the Heart, scone, baguette, chalice, quill, and my legendary Doughnut Lord swagger. This circus is just a bad date!" The quill buzzed, sparking confidence, though my gut churned like I’d downed a cursed shot.

Lilith snorted, her scythe scraping a rune SCREECH. "Your ’swagger’ is why we’re dodging clown heads, you walking bar fight." Her sarcasm dripped like spilled whiskey, but her eyes softened, like she was betting I’d survive the night.

The cavern opened into a circular chamber, dominated by an altar of junk—piled with chipped plates, bent forks, and a gaudy tiara that looked like it was stolen from a carnie queen. The runes glowed brighter, shaped like cracked mirrors and rusty bells, pulsing like they were laughing at my existence. Atop the altar sat a glowing relic—a tacky amulet, encrusted with fake gems, radiating magic like a knockoff talisman. The Heart throbbed, scone hummed, baguette pulsed, chalice gleamed, and the quill buzzed, like they recognized this gaudy prize.

"Whoa," I whispered, quill buzzing. "That’s the Amulet of Awful Allure! Tacky, but powerful." I had no clue if that was its name, but it sounded like something a drunk bard would sing about.

Lilith’s eyes narrowed, her scythe glinting. "Cecil, if that amulet’s a trap, I’ll use it to strangle you." Her tone was sharp, but her lips twitched, like she was fighting a smirk.

Vorren grunted, sniffing the air. "Smells like a scam. Don’t touch it, Dreggs." His knife twitched, like it wanted to stab the amulet.

Jex’s eyes lit up, hands twitching like he was in a pawn shop. "Can I keep it? It’s shiny!" He reached, but Yvra grabbed his arm, her dagger gleaming.

"Don’t," she snapped, her voice cold. "Cecil, this is your fault. Fix it before we’re buried." Her eyes flicked to the Heart and amulet, curious.

Mister Fog sipped his tea. "The amulet is linked to the relics, Cecil. Be cautious." His warning sent a chill through me.

Thrain raised his lance. "For the crown’s tacky honor!" He tripped, crashing BANG into junk. "Dishonorable rubbish!" he groaned.

Gorrim waved his hilt. "By valor’s grace!" He slipped, crashing THUD into junk. "Cursed trash!" he wheezed.

I stepped toward the altar, clutching the Heart, quill buzzing, scone, baguette, and chalice pulsing. "Okay, team, let’s grab this amulet and bounce!" The runes flared, and a spectral figure appeared—a carnie in ancient robes, holding a glowing cane like a scepter. His eyes glowed like twin lanterns, and his voice boomed RUMBLE. "WHO DARES CLAIM THE AMULET OF AWFUL ALLURE? PROVE YOUR WORTH, OR FACE THE WRATH OF THE CARNIVAL!"

I gulped, quill flaring. "Cecil Dreggs, Doughnut Lord! I’ve got the Heart, scone, baguette, chalice, and I’m here for answers!" The Heart pulsed, and I felt Valthorne’s power, like it was cheering me on.

The carnie’s eyes glowed. "Answer my riddle, or perish! What sparkles with charm, yet crumbles with fear?"

I blinked, scratching my head. "Uh... an amulet?" The quill flared, and the scone warmed, like I was close.

The carnie’s cane glowed. "Close! Speak truer!" The runes flared, and junk—rusty bells, chipped plates, glowing tambourines—flew from the piles, spinning CLANG-CLANG. I ducked, a bell grazing my coat CLINK.

"Junk attack?!" I yelped, quill flaring. I pointed it, and a giant carnival tent appeared WHUMP, blocking a tambourine. The crew scattered, dodging trash.

Lilith slashed a plate CRACKLE. "Cecil, you’re a disaster! Fix this!" Her scythe spun, smashing junk like it had hit on her.

Vorren smashed a bell CRUNCH. "Who builds this garbage? I hate it!" He dodged, nimble for a keg of a man.

Jex caught a plate, sniffing it. "Is this... food?" He ducked CLANG, squealing. "Nope, cursed!" He dove behind a pile, glitter on his face.

Yvra’s dagger pinned a bell THUNK. "Cecil, end this!" Her glare was deadly, but her lips twitched, like she was fighting a laugh.

Mister Fog sipped his tea. "The quill channels your will, Cecil. Focus, or we’re junk fodder." His calm steadied me.

Thrain swung his lance, shattering a tambourine SMASH. "For valor!" He tripped, rolling BANG into junk. "Curse this rubbish!" he groaned.

Gorrim flailed, his hilt waving. "By the crown’s grace!" He slipped, crashing THUD into junk. "Cursed trash!" he wheezed.

I raised the quill, Heart glowing, scone, baguette, and chalice pulsing. "Okay, riddle time! An amulet sparkles with charm—confidence, swagger—but fear makes it lose its shine!" The quill flared, the scone glowed, the Heart pulsed, and the amulet shone brighter. The carnie nodded. "Worthy!" The junk stopped, and the altar glowed, revealing a path beyond.

I grabbed the amulet, visions hitting me—Valthorne forging peace with relics, his power in the Heart, scone, baguette, chalice, and amulet. My power. The path hummed, runes flaring, promising answers or doom.

Lilith slashed a bell CRACKLE. "Cecil, you’re not dead. Shocking."

Vorren smashed a plate CRUNCH. "Don’t get cocky."

Jex ate a crumb, grinning. "You’re the best, Cecil!"

Yvra’s dagger pinned a tambourine THUNK. "Absurd, but effective."

Mister Fog sipped his tea. "The relics are one. Be cautious."

Thrain and Gorrim shouted, "For the crown!" and crashed BANGTHUD. "Dishonorable rubbish!" Gorrim wheezed.

The path glowed, runes pulsing. I led the way, clutching the Heart, scone, baguette, chalice, amulet, and quill, ready for whatever came next. The Doughnut Lord was just getting started.