Re: The Spectacular Exhibition (S3G2) [Round 1: Parallels/Perpendicularities]
06-13-2011, 10:00 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Crepitans had barely been able to force his enormous frame into the pyramid at the start; the fact that the corridors that filled the pyramid wound and narrowed made movement continually harder and harder. That, coupled with the periodic and worrying grinding and shaking that emanated from the stone around him, forced him to eventually abandon his pursuit of Red entirely in favor of simply getting back out of the pyramid without getting trapped in some chamber or wedged in a hallway. The frustrated shaman had spent too long threading through the tortuous tunnels to remember the path back to the entrance he'd come in from, so he simply started taking the widest paths he could find, hoping they would eventually lead him back outside.
After some minutes of this annoyed wandering, torchlight was replaced by dim sunlight and writhing roots felt the crunch of snow beneath them. The tree's expression didn't so much change from its scowl as gain a sharp edge to it as he stepped out into the chilling breeze of the tundra; after a few moments of taking in the openness and spreading his roots and branches, Crepitans turned back to the blasted structure that had so hindered his hunt for the damnable crustacean.
It was the only notable structure in the entirety of the visible landscape, a vaguely-yellowish construction of some kind of sandstone-esque material. A few experimental scrapes and a punch or two revealed it wasn't the hardest stone could be, but it was still solid and a lot harder than even hardwood. Even without any obvious substance holding the stones together, they resisted any attempt at levering or prying them apart. Perhaps most worrying of all, though, was the entire pyramid's tendency to, with a lurch and loud grinding noise, raise another few feet out of the ground at erratic intervals. All in all, it was frustratingly solid and mysterious, and resisted every attempt to physically alter it.
Which simply meant, to Crepitans, that a more magical approach would be required. Why bother plowing a tunnel through the honeycombed tomb when he could simply cause it to collapse or disassemble itself? The perpetual rictus of anger that was usually plastered across the shaman's enormous wooden face softened momentarily into a more contemplative visage as he pondered how to approach this new problem. While he wondered, he reached a hand into his boughs, carefully drawing out an enormous urn filled with pigment.
The wind whipped up dramatically as preliminary sigils were traced across the rough surface of the pyramid. It was probably completely unrelated to whatever spells Crepitans was in the process of weaving, but it was certainly tonally appropriate; the clouds of snow that were kicked up and sent spinning around the base of the structure lent the air a hazy, eerie cast, and the contents of Crepitans's branches were sent knocking into each other, producing arhythmic bursts of hollow, staccato sounds. Had anyone else been around, the entire scene would have been quite unsettling.
A recognizable pattern of glyphs and runes began forming around the entrance Crepitans had managed to escape through; he'd apparently settled on a course of action, as his strokes were getting more confident and faster, and a faint glow was starting to take hold around the edges. A wicked grin began curling its way across the gash that passed for a mouth, and an air of palpable confidence wafted off the cruel shaman. Three more strokes, two more, one, and... It was finished.
Dark shapes writhed around the portal, and the smile widened. Black sparks leapt from the stone, and it faltered. There was a resounding CRACK and flash of light, and Crepitans stumbled backwards, leaves singed and panic rising in his eyes. Snow near the backfiring spell began melting, and the stone it was painted on began warping and darkening.
The rumbling that had been occasionally emanating from the depths of the pyramid redoubled.
After some minutes of this annoyed wandering, torchlight was replaced by dim sunlight and writhing roots felt the crunch of snow beneath them. The tree's expression didn't so much change from its scowl as gain a sharp edge to it as he stepped out into the chilling breeze of the tundra; after a few moments of taking in the openness and spreading his roots and branches, Crepitans turned back to the blasted structure that had so hindered his hunt for the damnable crustacean.
It was the only notable structure in the entirety of the visible landscape, a vaguely-yellowish construction of some kind of sandstone-esque material. A few experimental scrapes and a punch or two revealed it wasn't the hardest stone could be, but it was still solid and a lot harder than even hardwood. Even without any obvious substance holding the stones together, they resisted any attempt at levering or prying them apart. Perhaps most worrying of all, though, was the entire pyramid's tendency to, with a lurch and loud grinding noise, raise another few feet out of the ground at erratic intervals. All in all, it was frustratingly solid and mysterious, and resisted every attempt to physically alter it.
Which simply meant, to Crepitans, that a more magical approach would be required. Why bother plowing a tunnel through the honeycombed tomb when he could simply cause it to collapse or disassemble itself? The perpetual rictus of anger that was usually plastered across the shaman's enormous wooden face softened momentarily into a more contemplative visage as he pondered how to approach this new problem. While he wondered, he reached a hand into his boughs, carefully drawing out an enormous urn filled with pigment.
The wind whipped up dramatically as preliminary sigils were traced across the rough surface of the pyramid. It was probably completely unrelated to whatever spells Crepitans was in the process of weaving, but it was certainly tonally appropriate; the clouds of snow that were kicked up and sent spinning around the base of the structure lent the air a hazy, eerie cast, and the contents of Crepitans's branches were sent knocking into each other, producing arhythmic bursts of hollow, staccato sounds. Had anyone else been around, the entire scene would have been quite unsettling.
A recognizable pattern of glyphs and runes began forming around the entrance Crepitans had managed to escape through; he'd apparently settled on a course of action, as his strokes were getting more confident and faster, and a faint glow was starting to take hold around the edges. A wicked grin began curling its way across the gash that passed for a mouth, and an air of palpable confidence wafted off the cruel shaman. Three more strokes, two more, one, and... It was finished.
Dark shapes writhed around the portal, and the smile widened. Black sparks leapt from the stone, and it faltered. There was a resounding CRACK and flash of light, and Crepitans stumbled backwards, leaves singed and panic rising in his eyes. Snow near the backfiring spell began melting, and the stone it was painted on began warping and darkening.
The rumbling that had been occasionally emanating from the depths of the pyramid redoubled.