Post: #1

The sigils and glyphs glared down, crushing the psyche with the sheer insignificance of any mortal in the Great Game. Not one of the hundreds which marched through the sacrosanct ground so much as blinked, for they were far from mortal. Contingents of skeletal warriors marched through shattered desecrated halls, columns shattered, walls torn asunder. Three robed, masked beings lead the undead force, unhindered by the disarray of the temple. Shrines to the Prince of Pleasure lay strewn and trampled, heretical texts hacked apart.

With eerie silence, firm purpose, and resolute direction they unerring force strode forth deeper into the temple. Sacrificial altars lined the tunnels. Heinous torture devices hung from the ceiling, decayed corpses, faces contorted in screams of agony, trapped within.

The three priests paid no heed, turning left as one, cloaks billowed behind them, the very winds of magic parting at their presence.

The chambers grew darker, the scenes held within each more terrible than the last. Beastmen punctured by thousands of envenomed barbs. Flayed elf skin plastered the walls, the elves boiled alive. Unholy devices which sliced layer after layer off the victims bodies, leaving them as naught but minced meat. Clawed tools, drenched with gore, clutched bones ripped out of screaming humans. Creatures gaunt with starvation, a hollowed look in their decayed faces, subject to hallucinogens and neural toxins, driving them insane.

No room elicited even a curious glance from the two priests. Finally they came to a halt in a large chamber, statues adorned the walls and ceilings, portraits of various decadent acts. At the end of a long aisle rested a single, small chest. Palpable power resonated within the chamber. The carpet floor was dark red, engorged upon the blood of thousands who dared lay claim to the chest. An inscription, gouged into the very wall, rested above the chest.

“Zekerak."

“The text reads, Within lies the daemon Tcha’kar, cursed spawn of the twisting one, he who desecrated the Dark Prince’s realms of pleasure. For the damnable sins of his existence and desecration he is sentenced to an eternity of agony. May his screams please the Dark Prince forever more.
“I trust that you can hold the wards at bay?”

“You doubt my power?”, with a clawing motion the air writhed and Malkar snarled.

“Make haste, the wards are powerful.”

“Of course.”

Hissing a command, Zekarak accompanied by a dozen heavily armored skeletal warriors stalked forward. With a backward glance to his colleague, Zekarak ordered the chest to be raised.

The very air screamed in fury, the walls poured blood, the statues came to life.

Hundreds of daemonettes raced from every corner of the chamber, screeching fell cries, twisting with alluring beauty, claws outstretched.

Reality warped as beasts materialized out of the very air, and the winds of chaos surged with renewed vigor, a ferocious roar ricocheted through the chamber. The pounding footsteps of a greater daemon echoed upon bleeding walls

Post: #2

Malkar hissed in dismay, the wards had been more potent then he had imagined, and they twisted with foul intent evading his grasp. Like smoke they twisted and contorted, fluttering away from the iron fist of his will. With unholy speed the daemonettes danced across the chamber, screeching sensuous undulations, their eyes glittering with dark intent. Focusing, Malkar began to chant, his voice rising in volume, increasing in speed, hands held out, palms upraised in supplication to fell powers. Blood red runes burned fiercely upon the chambers walls contesting the priest’s powers, repelling his futile attempt to usurp their power.

Screaming in fury Zekarak drew upon the dark magic writhing in the very air and summoned a wall of flame around himself and his minions. Channeling the potent energies which gushed through every stone, within every glyph, within every square inch of the forbidding temple, Zekarak lashed out with his hand. A thunderous boom reverberated through the chamber as a jagged bolt of lightning erupted from the priest’s palm and collided with the rune etched wall. With a roar the runes were strained beyond their limit and the wall shattered.

Snarling his enchantment with renewed vigor, Malkar twisted his arms, fingers pointed towards the ceiling, palms held parallel to the approaching daemonettes. A sizzling sound filled the air as wisps of smoke materialized in the form of glyphs, pulsing softly, repulsing the potent energies of chaos, a barrier which the daemonettes could not pass. Wailing in frustration, calling to the priests in sensuous voices, the daemonettes clawed at the unseen barrier infuriated.

Zekarak released the inferno with a flick of his wrist sending a wave of fiery destruction at the daemonettes, incinerating two, and hurling half a dozen back. He turned to his companion. Malkar strained to maintain the ward, his flesh began to smolder as the magical energies began to lose cohesion. With a haughty laugh, a mighty Keeper of Secrets stalked through the shattered wall, its eyes focused on the straining priest. Rising a talon bedecked hand, the Greater Daemon clawed at the air. The ward shattered instantly. Malkar was ripped apart by the magical back lash.

Zekarak grabbed the chest and with a wave of his hand teleported out of the chamber before the nascent chaos energy could reassert itself. Stepping from a portal of darkness at the entrance to the chamber, Zekarak nearly colliding with the third priest, Inohet.

“Where have you been?!”, Zekarak snarled.

“I was detoured. Have you retrieved the chest?”

“Of course you fool! Detoured? You were right beside us!”

“Where is Malkar?”

“Thanks to your absence he is dead.”

“We must return to the citadel immediately.”

“I am well aware of that you imbecile”, Zekarak snarled before vanishing in a plume of black fire.

Inohet glanced at the empty space for a moment before retrieving a silver mask from his robes. Faintly etched runes covered the mask. Inohet smiled before he to burst into black flames.