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The Blade of Phoee (Updated 12/08/08)
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<blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 2813417" data-attributes="member: 22792"><p><strong>Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued</strong></p><p></p><p>Cassock felt his body jerk backward, the magical energy of the <em>wish</em> dancing through his nervous system like electricity. Vertigo wrenched the edges of his mind. Shuddering, the priest’s soul seemed to expand, nearly splitting its fleshy prison at the seams. Cassock’s vision dimmed, permitting a brief respite as vertigo’s razor talons loosened their hold.</p><p></p><p>Slowly, the disorientation passed and the priest’s eyes opened. In the brief span of near-unconsciousness, Cassock had apparently been relocated, either physically or spiritually. The massive library of Llewyllyn Manor was gone; instead he found himself in the center of a great hall. A checker pattern, black and white floor stretched beneath him endlessly, it appeared, in either direction. Ages of dust laid upon the open floor, dancing in a slight, chilled breeze.</p><p></p><p>The priest turned around carefully, trying not to disturb the piles of aged soil around him. The grand hall was an immense beast, perhaps larger than the dragons of lore. The priest felt as though he had been swallowed by the colossal beast. Staring straight upward in the dim light the ceiling could be discerned, a massive ribcage easily a hundred feet or more above.</p><p></p><p><em>A predator just waiting to pounce</em>, thought the cleric. He turned his attention from the vaulted dome to the workmanship surrounding him.</p><p></p><p>The checkered pattern of the floor was crafted of the smoothest marble. The blackness of the alternating squares nearly void of color was in stark contrast to the seemingly glowing white. The blocks seemed carved by a deity; so perfectly smooth as if to deny a mortal hand had ever worked it. </p><p></p><p>Doric columns, made of the same pitch black marble, pierced the floor and stretched the impossible height to support the ceiling. Cobwebs covered the columns and trapped motes of dust against the stone. At ordered intervals along the side of the columns, red marble gargoyles were carved as if in mid-climb. If not for the perfect stillness and dull sheen of the unpolished marble, the creatures could be alive.</p><p></p><p>A shudder passed through Cassock, a feeling of uncertainty traveling upon the chilled air.</p><p></p><p>Arching bridges spanned the empty air above, lending support to the marble columns. The locations of the arcs appeared random or chaotically placed, like a spider’s web. Upon the bridges perched more of the gothic marble gargoyles; these stared hungrily downward.</p><p></p><p>The edges of the room slowly made their presence aware to the priest. Massive walls flowed vertically—like water in motion—and grasped the ribcage of the ceiling. </p><p></p><p>Cassock cautiously paced toward a window in the wall, allowing the dim light to guide his footsteps. As he edged closer, his eyes distinguished the strange detail in the masonry. Twisted, tortured visages gazed outward toward him. The faces exhibited every expression of pain possible. The cleric blinked and paused, for a second the faces seemed to contort. Seconds passed slowly, nearly endless and no more movement occurred.</p><p></p><p>Carved into the stone walls surrounding the window’s sill were more of the agonized faces. Unlike the sill, the walls allowed enough room for humanoid bodies to connect to the numerous faces. The bodies were also contorted in agony and poised as though attempting to escape the marble. </p><p></p><p>A breeze poured into the hall causing deep velvet curtains to dance gracefully. The unobstructed view through the window allowed a view of a reddening forest. A gracefully curving hill descended from the hall for some distance and sloped into an extremely large city. All these details, Cassock carefully observed and held onto—locking the sights permanently within his memory.</p><p></p><p>A great wall encircled the lower levels of the city; its great height allowing only towers to peak above its ledge. Many of those towers were sharp and black. Cassock thought they appeared to slice futilely at the heavens above, trying to tear a hole in the sky.</p><p></p><p><strong>Rap! Rap! Rap!</strong></p><p></p><p>Cassock pivoted toward the sound drawing his war-mace and preparing for battle. Along the rear wall of the chamber rested a large black throne. Slowly, the cleric picked his way across the floor and toward the seat.</p><p></p><p>The throne was easily thrice the height of a man. It was crafted of warped wood and black metal; the material infusing its frame slipped toward the floor in gothic curves. The seat and armrests were cushioned by dark crimson pillows. Each armrest ended in a black marble sculpture of human skulls. From the eyes of the skulls, dim candlelight flickers to light the priest’s destination.</p><p> </p><p>Upon the throne rested a middle-aged man. Silver hair, balding on top, drifted lightly down to shoulder length. The face under the hair was utterly unremarkable except for the eyes. From above a hating sneer, irises of pitch black stare downward.</p><p></p><p><strong>“Why do you disturb my kingdom, child?!”</strong> Upon the brow of the man, a crown carved to resemble thorns perched precariously. As Cassock neared, he could tell the crown while resembling thorns was actually carved from bleach-white bone. The man snorted—breaking the cleric’s attention—and settled backward into the seat, nearly swallowed by the shadows. Impatiently he tapped a gnarled black oak staff upon the floor.</p><p></p><p><strong>“Don’t make me ask you again, child. Answer the question.”</strong></p><p></p><p>“I disturb your kingdom because I wish to, milord.” Cassock warily sheathed his weapon.</p><p></p><p>The old man snorted, nearly choking on some phlegm. <strong>"I heard you were an insolent bastard, a worshipper of the dead gods. And you pay your King no respect. These treasons will not go unpunished, Cassock of Cael. I ask again; why do you insist on disrupting my Kingdom?!”</strong></p><p></p><p>“Cael has deemed the disturbance necessary. And I follow the path my God sets before me.”</p><p></p><p>A snicker hissed from the shadow of the throne. The King leaned out slightly, a holy emblem of the deity Ara’kull dangled impotently from his neck. "<strong>Your god is no more, child. Soon even his flesh will be but ash. Ara’kull devoured his essence long ago. Your insolence will incur the wrath of Ara’kull—my wrath."</strong> King Arma leaned back into the shadow. <strong> “Unless of course, you submit to the glorious will of the All-Holy.”</strong> </p><p></p><p>Cassock could hear the wicked grin stretch across the yellowing teeth of the man. He smirked in kind and spoke, “I will see Ara’kull’s death long before that time, King. I will spill his blood and end his reign as well as your own.”</p><p></p><p>With inhuman speed, King Arma hopped from the throne, his long black robes billowing after the movement. Within one blink of an eye, he closed the distance between the throne and Cassock. Hoarse, flat, insane laughter leapt from his mouth while the flesh upon his head began to rot and peel. His skin pulls taut across his skull, stretching tightly as he continues the mocking laughter. The King’s black irises seep outward, devouring his eyes. The only light in the empty sockets is that reflected off pale, wriggling white maggots. The insects feasted upon the necrotic skin surrounding the sockets. A scent heavy with stench and decay engulfed the air around the monarch, pouring into Cassock’s nostrils and forcing him to gag.</p><p></p><p>“Death overcomes all,” Cassock spitted defiantly.</p><p></p><p><strong>“Child, you have no power over me. And no power you wield could destroy me. For I am Death. Just as I am LIFE.”</strong> The dry voice split into two, parallel but different tones. </p><p></p><p>“You are nothing but a puppet, fool.” Cassock tentatively returns his hand to grasp the hilt of his mace. </p><p></p><p><strong>[hq]“I AM NO PUPPET. IT IS THE GOD OF MEN THAT SPEAKS TO YOU NOW, CHILD. IT IS THE GOD OF MEN THAT WILL CRUSH YOUR BODY AND SOUL RIGHT BEFORE THIS THRONE. IT IS THE GOD OF MEN THAT WILL MAKE YOU BEG FORGIVENESS BEFORE STRIPPING THE LIFE FROM YOUR BODY AND DEVOURING YOUR SOUL.”[/hq]</strong>[hq][/hq] An aura of divine energy spasmodically radiated from the un-living corpse pacing in front of Cassock. The creature twitched in anger and rage, dead knuckles turning white upon the black staff.</p><p></p><p><strong>[hq]“EVEN NOW, AS WE SPEAK, THE MOTHER DIES. THE CREATOR OF ALL TORMENT SLOWLY WASTES AWAY. ALONG WITH HER SHALL PASS HER CHILDREN AND BY THEM HER OTHER BLOOD. THE WORLD WILL COME TO DARKNESS AND I SHALL BE THERE. IN THE DARKNESS, I WILL WAIT FOR YOU, CASSOCK OF CAEL. IN THE DARKNESS, I WILL END YOU.”[/hq]</strong>[hq][/hq] The walking corpse grimaced. Its maggots vanished as the skin upon its face reformed.</p><p></p><p><strong>“I can give you anything you desire, Cassock of Cael: Wealth; Power; Immortality. All of it could be yours.”</strong> The voice returned to its original, single tone. It was the King speaking again, not the fell God. </p><p></p><p>“Cael provides for me, you insufferable fool.”</p><p></p><p><strong>“Cael will provide for you no more. The signs and portents are here now. The last and longest Tri’ara</strong>[1]<strong> is upon us. With the coming of the dark, all of the old gods shall become nothing but ash upon the wind. And there is nothing anyone can do to stop the end-times.</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>“If you were wise, you would join with me to rule the world after. The new dawn is upon us and you may watch from my side, ruling as an equal. Your father has realized this already, although I had to open his mind for him.”</strong> King Arma grinned.</p><p></p><p>Cassock doubled over in pain as a vision filled his head. <em>Upon a cold, black marble floor his father writhed naked. White-hot brands prodded his already singed flesh. Ara’kull’s holy symbol was burned onto his body.</em></p><p></p><p>The vision shifted; <em>Morgan was now strapped to a rack, slowly elongating. Only the skin around the fist-sized symbol of Ara’kull was undisturbed. The rest of his body was split open, like overstuffed garments bursting at the seams.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Morgan’s head jerked backward in agony screaming for mercy and forgiveness. Cassock’s father’s back popped loudly as his spinal cord snapped apart. The man wrenched upward and pleads again for forgiveness, as the last of his life poured from his wounds.</em></p><p> </p><p><strong>“If I must, I will teach you in the same manner, child. But it need not be such,”</strong> the King speaks as the vision ends.</p><p></p><p>“Now I know you are a liar, false one.” Cassock unsheathed both his mace and sword, holding each at the ready in his hands. A confident sneer and a blood-hungry gleam in his eye break his normally stoic visage.</p><p></p><p>King Arma laughs and waves a hand quickly in the air. Both weapons vanished. Cassock glanced at his empty hands and balls them up in rage.</p><p></p><p><strong>“Very well, Cassock of Cael. I will be waiting for you in the darkness. You may go.”</strong> The King gestured as if to dismiss the priest; Cassock felt himself slip back into the darkness of unconsciousness. The scene, that image of the cocky and cold smile of the king, was etched into his memory along with the details of the chamber.</p><p></p><p>----------------</p><p></p><p>[1] Tri’ara – The last three months of the year. Before Ara’kull, there were 12 months in a year. After Ara’kull was born, the year lengthened by three whole months. This became known as the Tri’ara; 3 months given every year to the world by Ara’kull. The extra time seemed not to affect the life expectancy of any race. So, if an average human lived 30 years before the switch…he would still live for 30 years afterward. The time change does add an extra 7.5 of the old years to his life though. Just a little tidbit for you. <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite8" alt=":D" title="Big grin :D" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":D" /></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Funeris, post: 2813417, member: 22792"] [b]Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued[/b] Cassock felt his body jerk backward, the magical energy of the [i]wish[/i] dancing through his nervous system like electricity. Vertigo wrenched the edges of his mind. Shuddering, the priest’s soul seemed to expand, nearly splitting its fleshy prison at the seams. Cassock’s vision dimmed, permitting a brief respite as vertigo’s razor talons loosened their hold. Slowly, the disorientation passed and the priest’s eyes opened. In the brief span of near-unconsciousness, Cassock had apparently been relocated, either physically or spiritually. The massive library of Llewyllyn Manor was gone; instead he found himself in the center of a great hall. A checker pattern, black and white floor stretched beneath him endlessly, it appeared, in either direction. Ages of dust laid upon the open floor, dancing in a slight, chilled breeze. The priest turned around carefully, trying not to disturb the piles of aged soil around him. The grand hall was an immense beast, perhaps larger than the dragons of lore. The priest felt as though he had been swallowed by the colossal beast. Staring straight upward in the dim light the ceiling could be discerned, a massive ribcage easily a hundred feet or more above. [i]A predator just waiting to pounce[/i], thought the cleric. He turned his attention from the vaulted dome to the workmanship surrounding him. The checkered pattern of the floor was crafted of the smoothest marble. The blackness of the alternating squares nearly void of color was in stark contrast to the seemingly glowing white. The blocks seemed carved by a deity; so perfectly smooth as if to deny a mortal hand had ever worked it. Doric columns, made of the same pitch black marble, pierced the floor and stretched the impossible height to support the ceiling. Cobwebs covered the columns and trapped motes of dust against the stone. At ordered intervals along the side of the columns, red marble gargoyles were carved as if in mid-climb. If not for the perfect stillness and dull sheen of the unpolished marble, the creatures could be alive. A shudder passed through Cassock, a feeling of uncertainty traveling upon the chilled air. Arching bridges spanned the empty air above, lending support to the marble columns. The locations of the arcs appeared random or chaotically placed, like a spider’s web. Upon the bridges perched more of the gothic marble gargoyles; these stared hungrily downward. The edges of the room slowly made their presence aware to the priest. Massive walls flowed vertically—like water in motion—and grasped the ribcage of the ceiling. Cassock cautiously paced toward a window in the wall, allowing the dim light to guide his footsteps. As he edged closer, his eyes distinguished the strange detail in the masonry. Twisted, tortured visages gazed outward toward him. The faces exhibited every expression of pain possible. The cleric blinked and paused, for a second the faces seemed to contort. Seconds passed slowly, nearly endless and no more movement occurred. Carved into the stone walls surrounding the window’s sill were more of the agonized faces. Unlike the sill, the walls allowed enough room for humanoid bodies to connect to the numerous faces. The bodies were also contorted in agony and poised as though attempting to escape the marble. A breeze poured into the hall causing deep velvet curtains to dance gracefully. The unobstructed view through the window allowed a view of a reddening forest. A gracefully curving hill descended from the hall for some distance and sloped into an extremely large city. All these details, Cassock carefully observed and held onto—locking the sights permanently within his memory. A great wall encircled the lower levels of the city; its great height allowing only towers to peak above its ledge. Many of those towers were sharp and black. Cassock thought they appeared to slice futilely at the heavens above, trying to tear a hole in the sky. [b]Rap! Rap! Rap![/b] Cassock pivoted toward the sound drawing his war-mace and preparing for battle. Along the rear wall of the chamber rested a large black throne. Slowly, the cleric picked his way across the floor and toward the seat. The throne was easily thrice the height of a man. It was crafted of warped wood and black metal; the material infusing its frame slipped toward the floor in gothic curves. The seat and armrests were cushioned by dark crimson pillows. Each armrest ended in a black marble sculpture of human skulls. From the eyes of the skulls, dim candlelight flickers to light the priest’s destination. Upon the throne rested a middle-aged man. Silver hair, balding on top, drifted lightly down to shoulder length. The face under the hair was utterly unremarkable except for the eyes. From above a hating sneer, irises of pitch black stare downward. [b]“Why do you disturb my kingdom, child?!”[/b] Upon the brow of the man, a crown carved to resemble thorns perched precariously. As Cassock neared, he could tell the crown while resembling thorns was actually carved from bleach-white bone. The man snorted—breaking the cleric’s attention—and settled backward into the seat, nearly swallowed by the shadows. Impatiently he tapped a gnarled black oak staff upon the floor. [b]“Don’t make me ask you again, child. Answer the question.”[/b] “I disturb your kingdom because I wish to, milord.” Cassock warily sheathed his weapon. The old man snorted, nearly choking on some phlegm. [b]"I heard you were an insolent bastard, a worshipper of the dead gods. And you pay your King no respect. These treasons will not go unpunished, Cassock of Cael. I ask again; why do you insist on disrupting my Kingdom?!”[/b] “Cael has deemed the disturbance necessary. And I follow the path my God sets before me.” A snicker hissed from the shadow of the throne. The King leaned out slightly, a holy emblem of the deity Ara’kull dangled impotently from his neck. "[b]Your god is no more, child. Soon even his flesh will be but ash. Ara’kull devoured his essence long ago. Your insolence will incur the wrath of Ara’kull—my wrath."[/b] King Arma leaned back into the shadow. [b] “Unless of course, you submit to the glorious will of the All-Holy.”[/b] Cassock could hear the wicked grin stretch across the yellowing teeth of the man. He smirked in kind and spoke, “I will see Ara’kull’s death long before that time, King. I will spill his blood and end his reign as well as your own.” With inhuman speed, King Arma hopped from the throne, his long black robes billowing after the movement. Within one blink of an eye, he closed the distance between the throne and Cassock. Hoarse, flat, insane laughter leapt from his mouth while the flesh upon his head began to rot and peel. His skin pulls taut across his skull, stretching tightly as he continues the mocking laughter. The King’s black irises seep outward, devouring his eyes. The only light in the empty sockets is that reflected off pale, wriggling white maggots. The insects feasted upon the necrotic skin surrounding the sockets. A scent heavy with stench and decay engulfed the air around the monarch, pouring into Cassock’s nostrils and forcing him to gag. “Death overcomes all,” Cassock spitted defiantly. [b]“Child, you have no power over me. And no power you wield could destroy me. For I am Death. Just as I am LIFE.”[/b] The dry voice split into two, parallel but different tones. “You are nothing but a puppet, fool.” Cassock tentatively returns his hand to grasp the hilt of his mace. [b][hq]“I AM NO PUPPET. IT IS THE GOD OF MEN THAT SPEAKS TO YOU NOW, CHILD. IT IS THE GOD OF MEN THAT WILL CRUSH YOUR BODY AND SOUL RIGHT BEFORE THIS THRONE. IT IS THE GOD OF MEN THAT WILL MAKE YOU BEG FORGIVENESS BEFORE STRIPPING THE LIFE FROM YOUR BODY AND DEVOURING YOUR SOUL.”[/hq][/b][hq][/hq] An aura of divine energy spasmodically radiated from the un-living corpse pacing in front of Cassock. The creature twitched in anger and rage, dead knuckles turning white upon the black staff. [b][hq]“EVEN NOW, AS WE SPEAK, THE MOTHER DIES. THE CREATOR OF ALL TORMENT SLOWLY WASTES AWAY. ALONG WITH HER SHALL PASS HER CHILDREN AND BY THEM HER OTHER BLOOD. THE WORLD WILL COME TO DARKNESS AND I SHALL BE THERE. IN THE DARKNESS, I WILL WAIT FOR YOU, CASSOCK OF CAEL. IN THE DARKNESS, I WILL END YOU.”[/hq][/b][hq][/hq] The walking corpse grimaced. Its maggots vanished as the skin upon its face reformed. [b]“I can give you anything you desire, Cassock of Cael: Wealth; Power; Immortality. All of it could be yours.”[/b] The voice returned to its original, single tone. It was the King speaking again, not the fell God. “Cael provides for me, you insufferable fool.” [b]“Cael will provide for you no more. The signs and portents are here now. The last and longest Tri’ara[/b][1][b] is upon us. With the coming of the dark, all of the old gods shall become nothing but ash upon the wind. And there is nothing anyone can do to stop the end-times. “If you were wise, you would join with me to rule the world after. The new dawn is upon us and you may watch from my side, ruling as an equal. Your father has realized this already, although I had to open his mind for him.”[/b] King Arma grinned. Cassock doubled over in pain as a vision filled his head. [i]Upon a cold, black marble floor his father writhed naked. White-hot brands prodded his already singed flesh. Ara’kull’s holy symbol was burned onto his body.[/i] The vision shifted; [i]Morgan was now strapped to a rack, slowly elongating. Only the skin around the fist-sized symbol of Ara’kull was undisturbed. The rest of his body was split open, like overstuffed garments bursting at the seams. Morgan’s head jerked backward in agony screaming for mercy and forgiveness. Cassock’s father’s back popped loudly as his spinal cord snapped apart. The man wrenched upward and pleads again for forgiveness, as the last of his life poured from his wounds.[/i] [b]“If I must, I will teach you in the same manner, child. But it need not be such,”[/b] the King speaks as the vision ends. “Now I know you are a liar, false one.” Cassock unsheathed both his mace and sword, holding each at the ready in his hands. A confident sneer and a blood-hungry gleam in his eye break his normally stoic visage. King Arma laughs and waves a hand quickly in the air. Both weapons vanished. Cassock glanced at his empty hands and balls them up in rage. [b]“Very well, Cassock of Cael. I will be waiting for you in the darkness. You may go.”[/b] The King gestured as if to dismiss the priest; Cassock felt himself slip back into the darkness of unconsciousness. The scene, that image of the cocky and cold smile of the king, was etched into his memory along with the details of the chamber. ---------------- [1] Tri’ara – The last three months of the year. Before Ara’kull, there were 12 months in a year. After Ara’kull was born, the year lengthened by three whole months. This became known as the Tri’ara; 3 months given every year to the world by Ara’kull. The extra time seemed not to affect the life expectancy of any race. So, if an average human lived 30 years before the switch…he would still live for 30 years afterward. The time change does add an extra 7.5 of the old years to his life though. Just a little tidbit for you. :D [/QUOTE]
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