The Ceremony

[Jaokith]

The Ceremony

The underground chamber was one of the largest within the temple. Inlaid upon the center of the floor in colored tiles was a huge jawless skull in a black and purple sunburst, the unholy symbol of the Prince of Lies. The smoky torches along the walls and the braziers burning incense gave the area a perpetual gloom, especially in the darkened corners where, if viewed from the corner of the eye, the shadows seemed to move of their own volition as if concealing creatures of nightmare or perhaps giving the illusion that those visible were not the only ones present. An enormous throne of jet black, suitable seating for a being no less than ten feet in height, sat near the northern end of the room. Directly behind the monstrous throne the northern wall was riddled with numerous alcoves, some of which only held shadows but others contained macabre works of art depicting heinous acts upon various sentient beings by the blessed of the One True Faith and their minions.

Before the throne a large altar seemed to rise from the ground itself some ten feet distant. It was placed in such a way so any occupant of the huge regal seat would command a perfect view of what occurred upon its darkly stained surface. The original color of the altar, a dull gray, could be seen in some places but over time it had taken on a darker shade from blood and other fluids released by victims in moments of stress, physical or otherwise. Powerful looking manacles, made from a silvery metal were placed strategically around it to insure those placed upon it had a very slim chance, if any, of escaping before a ceremony was completed.

Gathered around the sides of the chamber, near a dozen darkly clad acolytes chanted in a low tone of praise to the Black Sun while the specialized servants of the temple, called Questioners, held two human captives, a man and woman both in the prime of life, bound and gagged at the ready. Two other Questioners held between them a man or what appeared to be a man if a person could live without a skeleton, musculature, or form of any sort. They held his head upright so he could watch and all who looked upon this oddity could see that indeed this man lived as tears fell from his pain wracked eyes. Others observing the proceedings included two succubi, their flawless beauty and naked forms seeming out of place in such confines if not for the bat-like wings extending from their backs, one of which verbally taunted the male prisoner in a hushed voice so only he could hear. Another creature of the abyss, a vulture-like predator waited as well, standing near the alcoves behind and to the side of the massive throne. The vrock flapped its wings and clacked its claws together every so often but made no other movement or sound as it and all gathered focused most of their attention upon the man in darkly magnificent plate armor standing before the altar, facing the throne.

The human male that garnered the attention was young and attractive, some would even say beautiful. His pale, smooth skin stretched over fine facial features and his lustrous lightly blonde hair immaculately groomed and cared for hung to his shoulders. The dark armor strapped to his athletic form reflected the dim torchlight making its black surface and purple highlights shimmer in the little illumination present. His ice blue eyes were focused upon the altar and the immediate area around it as if checking to see if all was prepared. In his gauntleted hands he held a pack that clinked every now and then as he shifted his gaze from one place to the next. As his attention moved to the top of the large altar a smirk crossed his features and a dark malice and arrogance could be seen reflected in his eyes, face, and stance.

Upon the surface of the great altar a freshly exhumed male corpse rested, the desiccated flesh of which hung loosely upon its frame indicating the man had been within his grave for some time making him, for the most part, unrecognizable to any who might have known him in life. The body’s frayed and decomposing garments were indistinguishable for the most part but if one observed them more closely it would be noted that he wore the clothing of one of the weaponless warriors, a fighting monk when life stilled filled his form. The corpse was not shackled upon the altar but instead remained free of any restraints, its vacant eye sockets staring blithely upward toward the ceiling of the great chamber. Around the base of the altar were a little over a dozen paintings leaning closely together but not so that the artwork was unable to be viewed. Oddly, the pictures were of sunrises and joyous occasions, such as the birth of a child, and even some showing praises to Lathander, the Morninglord. The artwork stood out as strangely in the gloomy and malevolent chamber as a dirty beggar might at a grand ball.

“All is in readiness”, one of the Questioners, a half-born orc, had obsequiously approached the man before the altar, bowing low as he averted his gaze and spoke the common tongue through his tusked maw. A brief inclining of his head was all the man gave to indicate he had heard before the half-breed respectfully stepped back and returned to a place near the human captives. The chorus of praising chants continued from the gathered darkly clad acolytes as the armored man turned and strode ten paces from the great altar before turning and facing it once again. A dull clank rang out as he dropped the pack he had been holding to the floor before him and raised both gauntleted hands into the air beseechingly, his head tilted back slightly and his gaze toward the huge throne.

“Oh great Prince of Lies hear your faithful servant and shine your majestic radiance upon this ceremony”, he began in a loud commanding tone, his voice carrying over the chanting so all within the chamber could hear his words. His pale blue eyes were locked upon the black throne and grew wide as his unholy fervor climbed. “The power you grant your servant shall triumph over the pathetic worms that dare to defy you. So it shall be that the day will come when all those shall feel the dark magnificence of your presence. Immortal Lord grant a parcel of your power into this vessel so your bidding may be done and your foes may suffer. I claim your power to do your will and may I forever shine the glorious radiance of the Black Sun into the eyes of the false.”

As his last words had escaped from between his lips the armored man lowered his arms and focused his gaze upon the corpse splayed across the altar. Soon the rhythmic sound of divine spell casting was heard as he performed an incantation upon the remains of the dead monk, the magical power subservient to his will flowing through him and into the lifeless body. Slowly the corpse twitched into animation, a black light shining in its hollowed eyes as it sluggishly climbed off the altar to stand facing the man whom had given it unlife.

“Come… vessel of my will”, said the armored man, an arrogant and amused smirk upon his features as he motioned the corpse forward, “Take the tools of our foe.” He then reached down into the pack at his feet and pulled forth an oddly circular and pointed weapon inscribed with the symbol of Lathander that radiated the power of that deity. Holding forth the weapon, he waited for the undead creature to shamble forward and take it from his grasp, the hand of the animated corpse smoking slightly where it touched the consecrated item but offering no apparent discomfort. “And these as well vessel of the Dark Sun”, he continued as he reached into the pack once again drawing forth a short stack of small, pointed, circular, metal disks called shurikens that also radiated the power of the Morninglord. “Do my bidding so the will of Cyric, the supreme lord, shall be done.” He then handed the short stack of weapons over to the undead corpse, which only moaned in response as it took them.

The armored man nodded in satisfaction to his undead creation, an amused half-grin upon his features, he then looked over to where the bound woman was being restrained. “Bring the first to be sacrificed”, he called out loudly, beckoning with an upraised hand toward the crying and frightened woman. “And remove her gag as her screams shall be praises to our supreme lord”, he continued as the Questioners dragged her toward the great altar, one using a knife to cut away the cloth binding her mouth. Immediately a terrified scream erupted from the woman as she was forced down upon the altar, her wrists and ankles placed within the silver manacles and held immobile. Another scream erupted from her and then another but then only sobs of complete fear emanated from her as the two Questioners stepped to the ends of the altar, awaiting further commands.

Raising his hands beseechingly into the air once again and looking upon the dark throne beyond the altar the armored leader of the ceremony loudly spoke again, over the woman’s screams and sobs of terror. “Now as you witness from the Supreme Throne in the glorious Shattered Keep may your will great Prince of Lies be done and your foes undone at your behest.”

“No more…”, croaked the undead monk.

Suddenly without warning, the animated corpse stepped forward, toward the armored man, and swung its disk-like weapon, that now glowed slightly, in a powerful arc toward its tormentor’s throat. The eyes of the creature glowed darkly with defiance as it attacked, but its strike stopped just short of cutting flesh. Surprised for a brief instance, the man’s eyes widened a moment but then narrowed as a smile emerged upon his pristine features. He watched, darkly amused as the remaining muscles of the undead monk’s arm strained to finish the swing and end his life. He held his ground and did not move, the blades and points of the Lathanderite weapon mere inches from his throat as he looked into the defiant features of the undead monk. “Yes, my will is supreme here”, he spoke in a commanding low tone to the animated corpse, his malevolent amusement reflected in his cold, blue eyes. Glancing briefly toward the woman restrained upon the altar he then exerted the full force of his will upon his undead creation and spoke in a tone filled with malicious desire.

“Kill her… do my bidding vessel, strike for your true master, strike for the Dark Sun and do the will of Cyric.”

Slowly, the undead monk lowered the weapon and turned toward the altar, its resistance still there but overpowered by the will of its creator. Savoring the futile efforts of the animated corpse to prevent his sinister urging, Aerthen Galagore, darkly resplendent in his armor, looked toward the huge throne once again and joined in the chanting of praises to the Black Sun with the gathered acolytes. The young woman’s screaming sobs rebounded off the walls as she saw her death shambling toward her holding aloft a weapon dedicated to the Morninglord.

[Nyarlathotep]

Great stuff...I want to see more.

[Mord]

Holy smokes, Misty + Jaokith now.

[Misty]

Very cool!

[Inaubryn]

Nice.