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The Chosen; A novel of Azryen.
Topic Started: Jul 28 2009, 11:17 PM (171 Views)
Naruto91
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A Creator of Azryen
Prologue: The Shrine of Darkness

It was a brisk, autumn night. Wind bellowed, trees swayed playfully and crickets sang their ever so monotonous tunes. A sea of orange, yellow, and red leaves blanketed the ground, but since the wind was always blowing, most remained in the air, creating whirlwinds of vibrant color. Animals were jubilantly chattering amongst themselves and hurrying home to their nests and dens. Owls scanned the ground, searching for the slightest movement, which would betray the location of a tiny, scrumptious mouse.

A cloaked figure was walking surreptitiously down a forested path, clutching its robe tightly around its body so its tall and slender torso was clearly pronounced. No light penetrated the shadows cast by the figure’s hood, but two bright, red eyes shone eerily where a face should have been. The path came to a crossroad and the shadowy figure slowed to a stop. A hand reached out from beneath the cloak and slowly pulled back the hood, revealing the face of a man. It was a ghostly shade of white and there were a few scars scattered across it. Black hair dropped loosely to his shoulders, outlining his pale visage. His most prominent was a slash which ran from his left temple to his chin in a slight curve. His nose was short and pointed and his lips curled in an unsightly manner. All of the man’s features were crude, giving him the look of someone who could kill a child and feel no remorse; someone who could burn an entire village and walk away laughing cruelly; or someone who was in a forest for reasons other than to enjoy a relaxing, evening saunter.

The man turned his head from left to right, contemplating which path he should take. After a few seconds of judgment, he chose the left path, returned his hood to its previous resting place, and continued. Wherever the man walked, an ominous silence followed him. Once animals sensed his presence they would freeze to the spot, not daring to move for fear of – a crack sounded to the man’s right. He leapt to face the noise, his arm outstretched, and recited harshly, “Sisca revera!”

A brilliant flash of orange light shot from his outstretched palm and hit the unlucky doe square in the chest. The animal let out a yelp of painful surprise then fell to the ground and disintegrated into a pile of dust. A gust of wind followed and swept the remains off into the night. The man casually wiped his hands together, as if this happened quite often, and proceeded on towards his destination without a backward glance.

Nothing else disrupted the man’s walk; it seemed as if all of the forest’s inhabitants had disappeared. After changing direction several more times, he stopped along the path in what seemed a random spot. He took in his surroundings; forest stretched on forever to his right and to his left underbrush lined the bottom of a tall, vertical cliff lined with thick, leafy vines. The cliff was composed completely of a smooth, gray stone. A slight movement within the vines caught the man’s attention. This did not faze him in the slightest and his reactions were quick and precise. He shot his hand out just as a vine leapt towards him and encircled his wrist, twirling quickly up his arm to his shoulder. “Uni!” he shouted and the vines erupted in a burst of fire.

The vine on his arm untwined and fell into a heap on the ground; only to be engulfed seconds later by the spreading fire. After a few moments, the flames ceased their growth and only a large charred spot on the stone remained. The man ran his hand along the rock and all signs of fire disappeared. What remained made a wide, cynical grin spread across his face.

A symbol was carved rather deeply into the stone: a single spiral just smaller than the palm of the man’s hand. He stepped back and began to speak slowly and clearly.

“Turn stone to sand and sand to air,
Reveal the entrance to this lair.
Then return, from whence you came,
And guard this place, all the same.”

After he finished this incantation, the spiral began to glow a dark, blackish purple and the stone around the engraving began to dissolve. In seconds, a door had formed in the stone and a pile of sand was left on the ground. This pile then melted into the ground. The man scanned the doorway, a gleam of childish curiosity hidden in the depths of his visage. An owl hooted in the distance as he put one foot over the threshold. He continued into a passageway, which was slightly larger than he was, and the doorway behind him reformed. Torches then began to light, one by one, casting shadows along a descending stairway.

The man began to walk slowly down the stairs, taking in everything; from the intricate patterns of stone to the rusted torches set evenly along the walls, nothing was left unexamined. After a long while, he finally reached what seemed to be the end of the stairway. He must have been over a mile underground by this time. The walls and floor were enshrouded with a thin layer of moldy moisture and the man was drenched by a foggy mist, which filled the thick, musty air. The torches along the walls still burned, but they were exceedingly dim and the farther he traveled, the harder it became to see.

He walked along the leveled tunnel. Rocks of varying sizes lay scattered across the passageway as he went further. An opening suddenly materialized out of the gloom, revealing a large stone circular room. The walls arched into a domed ceiling, the peak of which was high above the center of the room. Directly beneath the peak, a cauldron emitted a purplish haze, similar to that of the spiral, and a green smoke was billowing upwards. A dank odor hung loosely in the air surrounding the cauldron as the man made his approach; it seemed only to please him.
Reaching the cauldron, the man produced a long, wooden rod out of thin air and began to stir the contents of the pot. Several stirring techniques later, the liquid changed from a dark, un-lively black to a bright, vibrant purple. The man’s grin faded not even for a second, so everything must have been going according to his plan. Once the liquid ceased its color changing, he dropped the stirring rod to his side and it vanished just before hitting the ground. He then took two glass phials out of his cloak; one had in it a thick, red liquid, presumably blood, and the other was empty.

The cauldron still bubbled happily, yet there was no fire beneath it. Maybe it was some reaction due to the different ingredients, or maybe some magical force heated it. The man did not seem perplexed. In fact, his movements were swift and exact as he poured the red liquid into the cauldron. On contact, the purple changed into a deep, mesmerizing silver. As soon as the last drop left the glass phial and incorporated itself into the silvery mixture, the surface of the potion became as smooth as a polished stone.

Putting the phial – which had previously held the red substance – back into his cloak, the man scooped some of his new creation into the empty glass. With his newly created potion in hand, he turned his back to the cauldron then said something inaudible under his breath. The cauldron and its contents disappeared, leaving a raised, stone circular platform in the center of the room.

The man then turned his attention to the rest of the room. His gaze fell onto a smaller platform placed about six feet from the center. He turned in a complete circle and in doing so; he saw five more of the same, stone platforms. Together there were six, all evenly spaced around the center, creating a perfect circle. Upon closer inspection, it seemed each of the smaller platforms had a spiral engraved in their center. Each spiral was inches in diameter and less than half an inch deep.

He walked over to one of the smaller platforms and poured enough silver liquid into the spiral to fill it to the brim. He repeated this process for the other five spirals and returned to his spot in the center of the room. Standing atop the platform the man began to recite a long and complex incantation.

“The blood of one hundred departed souls,
Gather together and complete your roles,”

He started. As he spoke, smoke began to rise from the stones and a strange buzzing noise became prevalent. After about a minute he finished,

“Now, my servants, you will obey.
Loyal to me, you must always stay.”

By the time he had finished, six figures had risen from the stones. They all had the same appearance; black cloaks covered what seemed to be lifeless corpses and there was nothing visible within the darkness of their hoods. What surrounded the man were six servants of the Darkness. The Dark Lord, Esaul, had created six of the most powerful Dark beings in the world, the Shadow Stalkers.

More will be posted in my strongbox from time to time if you'd like to read and comment!
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