Re: Epic Clash Round 4 - The Unholy Fortress
10-25-2010, 12:38 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
The tunnel Thomas was following gradually changed as he walked, going from rough-hewn stone to a smoother surface. The uniform dark-grey stone gave way to something with more variety, a darker backdrop peppered with spots of colour. A few valuable stones were embedded in the walls, and as he went, they became more plentiful, some stones seeming to glow with an inner light. After a time, the only source of illumination in the tunnel was one type's dim, blood-red glow.
Eventually, after a time that could have just as easily been hours or minutes, he arrived at his destination.
To say the cavern was large would be an understatement, and the dim lighting only added to the impression. The low red glow was augmented by almost a dozen torches placed in a general ring around the centre of the room, and the same number of tunnels led off at mostly-regular intervals, each turning a corner or simply fading into blackness not far from the chamber.
The altar in the centre was the real focal point- it was carved from pitch-black stone, absorbing every last scrap of light that it touched. It might have been engraved, but there was no way to tell- it was simply too dark.
Atop the altar was an intricate contraption, all delicate blown glass and clockwork brass valves. It ticked away, valves opening and closing in an unknowable pattern, the gases stored within moving from place to place, swirling and mixing.
The eleven cultists surrounding the altar were all facing towards Thomas as he entered, and they made no move towards him.
"He is weak," one said, though which one said it was indistinguishable.
"He has not the strength to open his way to a new form," said another.
"This one is cracked already."
"This one would be suitable for his use."
"This one would, in fact, be perfect for him." This time, it wasn't a cultist, but Thomas himself that spoke.
"What?!" The unnatural apathy's grip on Walt broke.
"This one should come forward," a cultist said, and as one, they turned to the altar. "He is prepared to bestow his blessings."
"Greg, stop! This isn't you, this isn't right!" He moved forward to restrain the other, but with a wave of his hand, Greg conjured chains of the altar's black stone that wrapped themselves around Walt, dark thorns digging into his skin.
"We shall receive his blessings, brother, and we will become more powerful than any mortal could dream." He turned, his eyes glowing a dark, festering green. "We shall welcome Khar'yion into ourselves, and under his will, we will escape this pitiful contest and return home, where we shall usher in a new age. Khar'yion's followers shall spread his control to every star in the sky, his power growing with each conquest, and with it ours as well. We shall be at one with him, and he with us, and it shall be glorious."
The tunnel Thomas was following gradually changed as he walked, going from rough-hewn stone to a smoother surface. The uniform dark-grey stone gave way to something with more variety, a darker backdrop peppered with spots of colour. A few valuable stones were embedded in the walls, and as he went, they became more plentiful, some stones seeming to glow with an inner light. After a time, the only source of illumination in the tunnel was one type's dim, blood-red glow.
Eventually, after a time that could have just as easily been hours or minutes, he arrived at his destination.
To say the cavern was large would be an understatement, and the dim lighting only added to the impression. The low red glow was augmented by almost a dozen torches placed in a general ring around the centre of the room, and the same number of tunnels led off at mostly-regular intervals, each turning a corner or simply fading into blackness not far from the chamber.
The altar in the centre was the real focal point- it was carved from pitch-black stone, absorbing every last scrap of light that it touched. It might have been engraved, but there was no way to tell- it was simply too dark.
Atop the altar was an intricate contraption, all delicate blown glass and clockwork brass valves. It ticked away, valves opening and closing in an unknowable pattern, the gases stored within moving from place to place, swirling and mixing.
The eleven cultists surrounding the altar were all facing towards Thomas as he entered, and they made no move towards him.
"He is weak," one said, though which one said it was indistinguishable.
"He has not the strength to open his way to a new form," said another.
"This one is cracked already."
"This one would be suitable for his use."
"This one would, in fact, be perfect for him." This time, it wasn't a cultist, but Thomas himself that spoke.
"What?!" The unnatural apathy's grip on Walt broke.
"This one should come forward," a cultist said, and as one, they turned to the altar. "He is prepared to bestow his blessings."
"Greg, stop! This isn't you, this isn't right!" He moved forward to restrain the other, but with a wave of his hand, Greg conjured chains of the altar's black stone that wrapped themselves around Walt, dark thorns digging into his skin.
"We shall receive his blessings, brother, and we will become more powerful than any mortal could dream." He turned, his eyes glowing a dark, festering green. "We shall welcome Khar'yion into ourselves, and under his will, we will escape this pitiful contest and return home, where we shall usher in a new age. Khar'yion's followers shall spread his control to every star in the sky, his power growing with each conquest, and with it ours as well. We shall be at one with him, and he with us, and it shall be glorious."