SSC 11-16-18
Hasten crossed the thresh hold of the cavernous chamber. The walls around him were dimly illuminated by a rippling low light of sea green and waves of sky blue that cast flickering shadows along the floor, up the walls and across the ceiling from shallow pools along the wall. The room held a rich scent of mildew, dust, and stagnant air which fluttered about the room from his imposing presence stirring the once dormant chamber. He could taste the filth on his tongue, forcing him to close his mouth. The cold air swept over his skin, sending the chill dancing across it, while his skin recoiled at it's brisk touch.
The Book of Blood lay on a pedestal near the end of the chamber adjacent to him. The crimson leather wrappings shown bright in the dim flooded crypt and behind it lay the count who created it. As he crept closer he could smell the putrid stench wafting up from the count where he sat upon the throne just beyond the book as if he was reading it from beyond the throws of life. Hasten felt his confidence rise as he came closer, now halfway though the chamber. The Putrid stench of the count was becoming steadily overpowering. He would get the book no matter the cost... He must succeed if they are to have any chance at finding the key of Thisk. As he inched forward his veins began to dilate, his heart thumping harder with each step he took. Droplets forming on his brow began to trickle down to the floor.
He heard the crunch of loose stone and aged limbs shatter underfoot. Then a light clicking sound reverberated off the walls, preventing him from locating it's source. As a small critter scurried to his left just at the edge of sight provided by the reflective illuminated fluid which surrounded him. He drew his blade slowly in response, being careful to use smooth, silent motions. With his blade gripped in his hands, he continued to slowly press forward. He rounded a broken slab of stone that had fallen from the ceiling ages ago as the crunch of broken stone threatened to make his footing slip.
He passed the edge of the stone, then heard a sloshing sound from the water at the edge of the chamber, just beyond the counts throne. His skin jolted and tightened just as a scrapping sound hummed though the chamber and a clicking sounded for a few more seconds. Brushing his emotions aside he pushed forward determined to take his prize. The Book of Blood held the key to the gate in the underworld. It also contained thousands of dark art rituals and spells. Another sloshing sound followed by the scrape of stone sliding, that obscured clicking sound again lasting several moments longer then before. This time however followed by the sound of air moving like a shuddering gust that had managed to breath through the chambers shattered exterior.
He was close enough to see the details of the count upon the throne. His head lay canted to the right with his jeweled blue crown atop his bare head, his jaw, nothing but teeth, lay open and lifeless with deep empty voids just below the rim of his crown. His dimmed attire was torn and coated with soot from ages of undisturbed rest. He heard the sloshing of water, the rasp of something sliding on the stone floor and felt the slight movement of the wind again. He was getting closer to the book now, the stench threatened to unhinge his last meal, he could taste the rancid bile burn his throat. Such foulness as he had never encountered before. He could see the source of the smell now as globs of goo pooled under the lifeless count, surrounding the throne entirely.
His eye caught movement from the shadows before him. the thickness of the air increased, growing warm and heavy. Where the movement was his eyes remained focused intensely. Nothing stirred in the dark shadows for many breaths. He heard something rustling and stir. His eyes darted to the source, the counts right hand. Gazing fiercely at it he waited to see if his mind was playing tricks. He saw it again, the slightest twitch from the shadow under his hand. Was it just the warbling light playing on his senses? Steeling himself he drew closer still. He was within reach of the book, the air was damp and sticky, overflowing with bile calling vapors bubbling up from the putrid goop. His hands where clammy from holding his blade in a white knuckle grip.
He reached for the book, his hand unsteady, the heated air adding to the drizzle of equilibrium tumbling from his brow, occasionally stinging his eyes. His index finger contacted the spine of the book as a thrumming jolt cascaded up his arm to his shoulder. The room exploded with intense motion, the once tranquil liquid that followed the outer edges of the chamber soared up the walls to smother the ceiling as if the equilibrium of the world was torn asunder.
The book began to shine a bright yet eternally dark arterial crimson. The glistening aura seemed to attach itself to whatever it touched like an infection. The sleek putrid goo beneath the Counts throne drank from the books aura like a starved animal. The form atop the stone throne began to glow the deep sea green and sky blue of the now flooded ceiling. When the cesspool turned the same arterial color as the books aura, it began to slide and slither along the base of the throne as the pool of liquid gripping the ceiling coagulated above it slowly extending itself downward as the liquid gathered, the aura infused goo began coating the shell once called Count Nevik, creator of the Blood Gates.
The luminescent fluid show into the eye sockets and gaped jaw as the count began thrashing violently, dragging him up from the throne by the liquid on the ceiling, flowing into him through the sockets like a vacuum. The Counts body began to fill out as the last bit of liquid entered the Counts contorted form. Tendons, tissues, arteries filling with fluid under the tattered fabrics that held the Dark Magi Nevik. Breathless Hasten retreat several paces, his posture wide and defensive. Watching intensely, eyes wide as the once frail form became something anew, something which surged with energy and vitality.
"What manner of dark sorcery is this?" Hasten bellowed.
Nevik's renewed frame slammed downwards, back onto the stone throne and the book danced through the air, resting delicately besides the Magi's hand. Nevik's hand raised, opening to the book as it did the same. Nevik's eyes burst open to show the glowering multi hued globes within and his gaze spread over the chamber coming to rest on Hasten as he continued to retreat.
