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The Arcane Order |
| Khalin took his war fork in hand, and stepped
out into the chilled night air. The sound of the spectres wailing in the
crypts nearby only served to intensify the harrowing vision he had just
experienced. He made his way around the stone edifice that was the
entrance to the crypt and stood in front of the huge, iron doors. Wisps
of warm breath made their way out of his mouth, and he tugged at the
metal handle and opened the door with a loud creak.
Into the darkness he moved, past the first room, and descending stairs into the depths below. His senses took in the rank scent of stale air mixed with a hint of blood and rot. He knew that scent would grow stronger as he continued on, but he had long ago grown accustomed to that characteristic of his morbid neighbor. So he continued, unaffected by repulsion, hoping to quiet whatever wailing thing that had tortured his sleep. Khalin wandered through the halls of that underground crypt for what seemed like hours, twisting through the blood-stained corridors and desecrated sarcophagi. He passed the rank, stagnant pools and the tortured corpses that still hung on the walls. Then the dark elf found himself in a familiar place. He looked around to see the room, only to realize that he had subconsciously led himself to this unholy site. It had been in this very room, with its pentagram drawn in blood, that a daemon had held him in a deadly grip and forced him to watch a most gruesome ritual. He recalled the day with vivid clarity. He could taste the tangible fear that he had experienced then. And so, it was with no small shock that he found himself drawn to the center of that pentagram. Why am I doing this? Why have I returned to this place? He could find no answer to either question. But neither mattered now... he was standing in the center of the blood-drawn pentagram, and he could hear himself muttering something. Then he saw... it. It towered before him. It seemed to kneel just so it could fit within the dimensions of the room, and yet, he could not focus on it. It was either too hazy or too dark or too bright -- he could not tell which -- but his eyes strained to make out the details. Khalin stood speechless before this thing and dropped to his own knees before it. It did not speak a word but, even through his flawed sight of it, Khalin saw it smile an evil grin. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the thing was gone. Khalin still stared, wide-eyed before him, trying to take it all in. Then, his gaze dropped, staring long and hard at the dried blood that formed the pentagram that surrounded him. What had he just seen? What power did this profane symbol hold? Only one source came to his mind... and the only time he had ever seen that person, his life had been threatened. Khalin still knelt in that pentagram, frozen in thought, when a wraith made its way into the room. For just an instant, Khalin's muscles tensed, ready to stand upright, until he noticed the creature just hovering at the entrance to the room. As the wraith stared bank at Khalin, a malevolent, misshapen smile etched its way across what remained of its face. The drow looked uneasily at the sight, and the wraith idly wandered out of the room. His eyes again focused on the pentagram that he still knelt within, and his mind echoed only one thought... Mephistos. |
The
Library Arcane: The Lord of the Dead