They marched onwards, their pace determined and unafraid as the dungeon's darkness enveloped around them. Born here, there was no need for lanterns or torchlight. Their eyes had adapted to the darkness, and in the phantasm witnessed the gleam of liquid. Cthuhlu wordlessly followed the gleaming vein that cut through the stone with Daoloth and Istasha in tow. They flanked his hinds, marching not unlike soldiers. At their hooves the dark liquid slithered through passages, leading them down winding tunnels and even carved staircases criss-crossed with cob webs and roots. Wherever they had managed to venture hadn't seen life in what appeared to be years.

Daoloth could tell that his sire was compelled by the stillness of this corner of the dungeon, as well as the mysterious fluid that guided them. It smelled... putrid, but with so little of it, the general musk of the dungeon overpowered it. His eyes of brine and kelp stared down at it as he marched forward, strides heavy and powerful as the muscles of his shoulders rolled and coiled. Peering at the oily substance left him considering their origins - or, Cthuhlu's, more pointedly. Was this an actual vein of the dungeon? A way to measure the pulsing magic? It didn't feel magical... Not to him.

His eyes glanced towards Istasha, whose fluid gait never faltered. Her dark eyes shifted towards Daoloth, and he found himself snapping away his stare. There was an absence in his life that a mother usually filled. It could leave a gaping wound, perhaps even a scar, but Daoloth simply had questions. The grotesque liquid didn't strike him with fear just has he did not yearn for his mother's affections. All he desired was ripping the veil of obscurity, tearing through it with his teeth to rend answers for himself.

Together they crossed a threshold into a massive antechamber. Circular, it stepped down towards a central point with a plinth. Or, what looked like a plinth. Cthuhlu paused only briefly, sharp green eyes scanning around the corners as they entered, before surging down the staircase and following the carved irrigation. Istasha followed the verdant beast while Daoloth remained at the entrance. He scanned the room more intensely, noting the lack of features, the domed ceiling, and the lingering dust, and most of all, the putrid stench of... he wasn't sure.

In the center of the room, Cthuhlu approached what he had previously thought was some sort of dias or plinth. Rather, it was a sarcophagus. Inside, the dark liquid sat stagnant. Dark scabs that had long lost their luster hid the gathering ooze below its surface. The foul odor threatened to singe away the hair of their nares but still Cthuhlu lingered close enough to thoroughly examine. Some steps away, Istasha tore her gaze from the ooze towards the Dread One.

"What do you make of it?" She murmured through the clacks of Daoloth's approach.

Cthuhlu didn't look to the mare, rather tilted their head so that their dark hair nearly touched the somehow mesmerizing liquid. Visually, in the dark, it wasn't compelling. Though it pulled at their heart, each of them could feel it. This ooze wasn't just some stagnant pool left to rot and fester... it was alive.

"We're getting closer." Was Cthuhlu's only answer.

"To what?" Daoloth interjected, Istasha glancing at him briefly. But Cthuhlu made no attempt to clarify.