The Speaker only once spoke of this place so evil,
So vilely corrupt, that the air itself suffered,
Heavy with hatred and despair,
Ripping at the hearts of mortals
Who dared walk its foul grounds.
Chicanery spewed from the accursed tongues
of ancient creatures
Lost to the ages
bestowed upon the land a life of its own
To breed and cultivate the hate it thrived on.
Anyone and anything that dared
Live under its starless orange sky was changed,
Irrevocably, forever.
But, as with anything left to the pages of history and fable,
This place the Speaker had created
Dropped into legend, a child’s tale to frighten
Naughty little girls and boys into doing
What their gods deemed right and proper,
Never knowing that even mentioning
The name of this horrid place could render flesh
And destroy the delicate fabric of peace
The five tribes strive to create.
Luckily, the name was lost,
Dying with those careless enough to speak it.
That is, until now.
Torches flaming within alcoves
Carved into the rock face were the only points of reference
In the darkened cavern.
Hints of movement from the shadows
Reminded the priest that he was not alone,
But he might as well have been.
The depth of the blackness
Below him was nearly complete.
His vantage point on the rock outcropping over the pit
Was unnerving, for he knew not what waited below.
To his left and right along the thin ledge,
His colleagues stood at attention,
All eagerly awaiting this momentous occasion.
The priest stood before the ancient text,
hands shaking and brow soaked
Watching the words on the page
Dance away from his understanding,
Teasing him to speak the Name.
Taking a deep breath,
The priest calmed his mind.
His lungs filled with the fragrant incense
Burning in the many small altars
Erected around the mouth of the chasm,
Each member of the order paying personal tribute
To the one that ruled them all.
From...
The Speaker only once spoke of this place so evil,
So vilely corrupt, that the air itself suffered,
Heavy with hatred and despair,
Ripping at the hearts of mortals
Who dared walk its foul grounds.
Chicanery spewed from the accursed tongues
of ancient creatures
Lost to the ages
bestowed upon the land a life of its own
To breed and cultivate the hate it thrived on.
Anyone and anything that dared
Live under its starless orange sky was changed,
Irrevocably, forever.
But, as with anything left to the pages of history and fable,
This place the Speaker had created
Dropped into legend, a child’s tale to frighten
Naughty little girls and boys into doing
What their gods deemed right and proper,
Never knowing that even mentioning
The name of this horrid place could render flesh
And destroy the delicate fabric of peace
The five tribes strive to create.
Luckily, the name was lost,
Dying with those careless enough to speak it.
That is, until now.
Torches flaming within alcoves
Carved into the rock face were the only points of reference
In the darkened cavern.
Hints of movement from the shadows
Reminded the priest that he was not alone,
But he might as well have been.
The depth of the blackness
Below him was nearly complete.
His vantage point on the rock outcropping over the pit
Was unnerving, for he knew not what waited below.
To his left and right along the thin ledge,
His colleagues stood at attention,
All eagerly awaiting this momentous occasion.
The priest stood before the ancient text,
hands shaking and brow soaked
Watching the words on the page
Dance away from his understanding,
Teasing him to speak the Name.
Taking a deep breath,
The priest calmed his mind.
His lungs filled with the fragrant incense
Burning in the many small altars
Erected around the mouth of the chasm,
Each member of the order paying personal tribute
To the one that ruled them all.
From below,
The putrid small of rotting flesh wafted up out of the pit
The fresh kills still spilling life blood
Upon the sacred bedrock.
He had been chosen for this duty above all others.
The priest lifted his hands to begin.
The grace of his dark lord
Charged his spell with unholy power.
The words leapt from his mouth violently,
Vomiting them into the blackened space before him.
He stumbled forward,
Nearly toppling into the darkness.
Catching himself on the podium,
He wiped the blood from his lips
With the already blood soaked hem of his white robes,
Convulsed once and fell to his knees.
Mind, body and spirit tried desperately
To keep the cohesive force that defines mortal life,
But he knew it was hopeless.
The opening lines of the incantation
Had already rendered his soul to
A distant memory of his former self.
He had already gone too far to ever turn back.
With shaking hands,
The priest struck the hard ground,
Causing a spark to flare to life,
Pushing back the tangible darkness briefly,
The sound seemingly swallowed by the
Gapping darkness ahead.
Again the spark flared to life and,
This time, his candle caught the failing ember
And burst into flame.
In the meager light,
The priest saw the podium towering above him,
Blood soaked and scared
As sure as if he had sacrificed himself on a wicked altar.
He had, in a way,
For he knew that to open this portal
Was to give up all hope of a mortal life,
A life given freely by the governing forces of the universe.
This was anti-nature, anti-life,
A means of existing created
Not in accordance with any natural law or order,
But a living force of the greed and hatred
Purely man made.
The priest smiled,
Causing the fresh sores on his face to tear further.
The change had already begun.
He could see in the light of tallow that his arms
Had been scared and stripped of life,
His flesh now black and flaking
As if infernal fires had somehow burned him.
Touching his face, he felt the bones of his skull moving and Distorting strangely with a pain
That was beyond mortal comprehension,
A pain that numbed the mind
And rendered any sense of self-preservation useless.
The dulling throb wracked the mind more than the body,
Twisting and molding the innate malevolence
Within into a force to sustain the body indefinitely,
Forever.
Immortality was at hand.
All he had to do was finish the chant.
“Finish the chant,” whispered a voice
Within his decaying mind.
The voice was choked and mucus filled.
After a moment,
He realized it came from somewhere along the ledge.
“Finish the chant!”
“When the darkness falls away, then shall we see,”
Said the priest.
The words sounded raspy and course,
Not at all the fluid calming tones he once had.
Touching his throat, the priest found that his
skin had rotted away, exposing his larynx.
“Now is the time,” echoed another voice
From across the cavernous room,
This one sounding shrill
But barely audible in the dead silence.
Balancing himself on his now exposed leg bones,
The priest forced his dying flesh to yield to his will.
Cracking and tearing with the effort,
Chunks of his flesh fell away.
Now standing tall on nothing but personal will,
The priest’s skeletal hand
Painlessly extinguished the candle.
Instantly, the cavern was bathed in an eerie blue light,
Looking like a deep forest meadow
Under the Nightstar’s midnight glare.
Around the unholy circle,
The priest could make out the eyes of his
Fellow members as floating yellow orbs
Shining in the darkness.
Heat emanations from the lava beds
far below the bedrock glowed
a soft orange to the eyes of the newly undead,
broken only by the black lines of blood rivulets
splaying out from the pile of cooling bodies in the corner.
The extinguishing life force
of the skeletal priests around the circle
glimmered a deep blue with the icy grip of death’s hand.
Around each priest, a layer of frost clung to the rocks.
The once blazing torches smothered in the chill.
“The darkness falls away,” chanted a priest
across the chasm,
his skull exposed and jaw bone hanging lifeless from what remained of his face.
His voice was disembodied and hollow.
“So to the dark lord we pray,” came another voice.
“To see the light that is never seen in the day,”
yelled another one.
“Mighty Speaker, show us the way.”
Evil laughter followed,
the priests each reveling in their new found forms.
“Silence!” yelled the priest before the podium,
his eyes glowing a deep red.
“I must finish the chant!” His voice too had
transcended this world,
and sounded hollow and empty.
“Yes, finish the chant!”, all the priests yelled
almost in unison,
leaping like ravenous animals to the edge of the chasm.
Finger bones clicked noisily on the bloody stones.
Greenish drool dripped from their bared teeth.
Looking down at the book,
he saw that the words no longer mocked his mortal form.
Instead, complete understanding.
The path ahead was clear.
Polaw