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Dark Lord Nihilus

Vampire Count
True Blood
Jul 8, 2008
1,408
A tempest wracked the blighted lands. Tumultuous gale force winds tore massive oaks from their roots, gouging gnashes in the earth. The heavens bled forth their vitae, rain gushing forth flooding the hastily leveled roads. The dips and bends acted as basins, at first girdling puddles. These puddles joined together in the span of an instant gurgling forth, a river of water, sweeping debris and strewn trees from the road. Lightning rent the sky asunder, a jagged spear of resplendent light with all the fury of the gods. Thunder pealed, bellowing rage yet unspent upon a world of mortals.

A single rider braved the wrath of the storm. The horse galloped forth relentlessly, pitting the sheer obstinacy of the living against the methodological cycle of nature. A mechanical purpose possessed both rider and mount. The pounding of hooves coincided with the beating of the heart, with the peals of thunder, with every breath closer towards completion, closer towards death.

A massive edifice heralded the destination of the exhausted pair. Two towers reaching up into the cloying cold of the far reaches of the heavens, flanked an archway, the entrance to a desolate city.

The pair were fast approaching.
 

The Pale Lady

Black Knight
Jul 6, 2008
308
Oooohhh very ominous, I like!

One correction at the end: 'the pair were fast approaching,' not 'was,' but otherwise this is looking very promising. More!

TPL
 

Dark Lord Nihilus

Vampire Count
True Blood
Jul 8, 2008
1,408
Two massive towers flanked an archway heralding the entrance to the abandoned city of Galmarek. The wind grew still as the pair, rider and mount past beneath the stern gaze of the tower guardians, gargoyles carved from solid stone entrenched upon the towers’ façade, unmoving and ageless.

A single brick and mortar road ran through the Galmarek towards the epicenter, the heart of the dreadful city, a sepulcher.

Galmarek carried a taint, an aura of despair and madness. The psychological oppression was such that to walk through the archway of the city was akin to walking into a brick wall, halting even the stoutest hearts. The gargoyle’s stern, accusatory gaze drew every misdeed, every speck of guilt from the depths of the mind to the forefront, occluding the senses and fanning the flames of self loathing. The narrow road made the journey seem interminable, claustrophobia ran rampant. Torches girdled the road, the flickering light casting shadows which writhed, convulsing like the spasms of the dying. Wind whistled down the narrow cordon, sharp and keening, bursting eardrums and drawing blood. The unearthly wailing jarred the bones, jolting the bone marrow, generating excruciating arthritic pain. Yet, softer tendrils of wind whispered indecipherably, their muttering and droning driving one insane.

The dark, obsidian walls of the main bolted and barricaded buildings which lined the road, drew the warmth from the body and the soul. Memories lost their luster, dreams turned to nightmares, aspirations were ravaged by pessimism.

A dull pounding could be felt through the soles of feet, in the ebb and flow of thoughts, in every breath and every step, an unyielding rhythm that enraptured all within its cold embrace.

The good graces of the gods must have been upon them both, rider and mount, for they raced through the city, inured to the effects of the unholy institution. He rode up the steps of the sepulcher, bursting through the doors. Exhausted beyond all hopes of recovery, the mighty horse collapsed upon the stone cold floor, dead. Staggering off without the slightest glance of concern or appreciation, the man limped across a velvet rug, up a flight of stairs towards intricately wrought, silver doors. His right arm cradled his chest, blood spattered upon the carpet, the dripping of a red soaked bandage.

The entrance chamber was filled with specimens from hundreds of species ranging from gnoblars to Carnasaurs, a single dragon stood within the furthest corner. They were far from dead. A thousand lungs expanded, a thousand hearts beat in tune to the pounding which resonated the city. Yet they did not move. They did not blink. Their breathing was light, their heart beats faint, as if held in an eternal state of rest.

With the faintest touch the silver doors swung open upon well oiled axels. Delirious with blood loss, staggering with exhaustion, he crumpled upon the ground croaking a single word.

“Master…”
 

TMS

Moderator
Staff member
True Blood
Nov 26, 2008
4,662
Sweden
That is quite the creepy environment that you've managed to describe for us so far, Nihilus. I sure wouldn't want to be there myself. Also, like your posts in the roleplaying section have already shown me, your written language is superb. Very elaborate. :)
 

Dark Lord Nihilus

Vampire Count
True Blood
Jul 8, 2008
1,408
A ripple. Darkness parted, thoughts rustled, dreams awakened. A trickle became a cascade. Consciousness stirred, disturbed from its journey. Light pierced shut eyelids tainting the darkness with a red hue. Colors whirled, fleeting and illusory. Sound warbled, the muted mutterings of a nonexistent voice followed by an all too real thump of flesh on stone.

Eyelids fluttered open. Eyes were blinded by assailing rays of light. Vision swam, pulsating orbs of light occluded the faculties. The scene solidified. Eyes were graced with the view of a prostrate being, crumpled upon the deathly cold floor, bleeding his vitae, staining the grey colored stone. He was young, his head capped with blond hair lightly tinged with brown, fair skinned, clothed in travel stained, dirt encrusted clothes. Weariness marred the young man’s features. Lines of exhaustion criss-crossed his face like scars, relics from a perilous journey wracked with mishap. He was unconscious.

Feet trod on stairs, descending. Hands reached out. Fingers rested gently upon feverish forehead. Frozen palms warmed, head cooled. Energies mingled. Neural circuits aligned, pheromone releases were augmented, the unseen and unheard electromagnetic radiation were manipulated. Proteins were nudged, hormone release reconfigured, blood congealment and mitotic division accelerated. In sparse moments the blood flow was staunched, the wound was sealed. Respiration tempo increased. Consciousness resumed.

The young man gasped. The air was sweet, filling his lungs greedily before speaking, he did not bother to rise, he merely lifted his head.

“Ma-master, they are approaching. The harlot leads a legion to raze the city. There is no time to escape.”

He removed his hands from the young man’s forehead. His gaze alighted upon an ancient tome encrusted with runes, the script of ancient Nehekhara, a tome stolen from the vaults of Queen Neferata. Ancient and powerful, it held the secrets of a long lost scholar, secrets of the mind.

“The time has come. Prepare the defenses.”

His cloak swirled behind him as the wizard ascended the staircase, returning to his derelict throne, crafted from the palanquin of a Slaan, the owner of which sat to the left of the throne, held in stasis.
*****

Her steed rode in utter compliance upon the dreary road through the storm that had beset them as they had chased a single sentry to the thief’s lair. Beyond the personal affront to her mistress, she was supremely curious as to how anyone had evaded the defenses of Queen Neferata’s fortress within the World’s Edge Mountains and stolen one of Neferata’s ancient texts. The thief’s choice of tomes had been a peculiar one, an ancient text written by a scholar who had delved into the so called secrets of the mind, mere observations which held no relevance to magical or mundane power, simply the musings of a misbegotten wretch. Although the test was far from treasured, the mistress would not allow such an insult, the culprit was destined to feel the divine wrath of a Neferata. She would be the vessel for such vindication.

As tedious as her task was, she would fulfill her own curiosity, and at the very least determine what the thief sought with such a text and how he had succeeded in breaking into the fortress, before she killed him.
 

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