The wind softly howls between the gigantic columns of infernal design, warm yet sinister light flickers behind them in the openings, shadows shifting constantly while the light footsteps of the white figure veiled in darkness that is the Nameless slowly approaches the enormous gate locked with an unseen seal of Disorder in nature, inflicting indescribable mental pain on any uninitiated or would be robber ready to satiate their greed for treasures immaterial.
He slowly reaches it, and stops staring up, his eyes gleaming with a cold emptiness while holding a tome inside his draped bland robes previously worn by dark elven maguses, occasionally blending in with the dim darkness of the large chamber. He opens the book, flipping through its pages with calm wanton pace stopping at around the sixth or seventh page scribbled with runic syllables, noticing the elven motifs combined with abyssal. His dry, dark lips move in a slow pace, soft echoing words leaving them while at the same time similar runes appear a few meters above him in front of the gate, pulsing with a dark light, red as the blood gushing out from a fresh sacrifice, brightening his malformed androgynous face with darkness for jaw as he slowly creaks his head up.
The enormous gate slowly scrapes open after the runes dissipate into the nothingness, the air locked in for Gods know how long escape with urgency, accompanied by an otherworldly wail, merging with the soft howl of the chamber. The Nameless shuts the book close, dust and dark mist like mana residue, tainted by the forbidden aspect of Disorder escapes into the air, disappearing in a blink of an eye, while he moves inside the much smaller area, slithering inside similar to wraiths and shades draped in ethereal robes made of negative matter.
Near the entrance, the Nameless stops and places the tome open on an ornate pedestal made of a fleshy material harvested from a large fungus like plant growing in the Upper Stratum of the Bottom Layer, with a wicked purple color that eats away the light coming from the sconces and torches placed inside.
The book seemingly flips itself to the page depicting a devilish figure hovering in the middle in a meditating pose with one of its clawed arms held out oozing with a sinister darkness, the other resting in its lap radiating with a mocking aura as its masculine body with the lower part of an abnormal goat and the head of deer is split in two, one side dark as the night itself with crimson red eyes staring back at the Nameless, the other white almost too pure for the figure. Similarly, its gnarled antlers contrasting each other. The right antler depicted with abyssal brimstone of a texture, pulsing with a looming red lights surrounded by pitch black smoke. The left antler drawn like white marble surrounded by half a halo radiating behind its white golden furred head.
His hand stops mid air as he readies to incantate the words, a jolt of memories flashing before his eyes, the sound of children laughing, a somewhat ethereal yet familiar scenery of a vast garden with plants radiating with a certain majesty, perfection and two faces plastered with smiles of friendliness, the joy of togetherness. Faces of two elven children, with perfectly smooth, fair skins and white as the snow long hair kept well with one being more girlish, the other a boy both young yet old for most other races, both radiating with a snow silvery aura that fills him with a feeling of tenderness.
He slowly reaches towards his cheeks, smoothening his left hand over his right cheek with a surprised look on his androgynous elven face not of the vessel, finding dry smoothness instead of the wet feeling of tears. The image fades and the sounds disappear with his face turning back to a cold, emotionless look.
Hundred whispers fill the room as the Nameless places his right palm on the page, dark corrupted mana forming under his palm, shaping into mist like tendrils that wrap around the pedestal’s twisted leg and spreading towards the rough floor front of it, forming into a triangle with the Star of the Abyss slowly shaping out. The space in front of him tears open and the radiant figure of a masculine man with white furred goat legs and the head of a majestic deer with white golden marbled antlers with a mocking aura at the back of them wearing a clean white revealing garment with golden feathered motifs running along its edges.
“Why have thee summoned me beloved children of the Gods?” The strange figure speaks with a majestic, deep voice that fills the people with the warmth of love, his eyes golden surrounded by an immaculate pond of holiness filling the dimly lit area in a divine brightness.
“What guidance thee seek?” An awkward silence continues as the Nameless stand still, the whispers gradually intensify, filling the mockingly radiating figure with a sense of dread it hasn’t felt since his ascension. Then the triangle of aberrant magical energies of the Nameless finish forming, runes of unearthly kind etch into the air, glowing with a cold dark light swallowing the radiance of the figure, turning his strangely alluring figure into one much more vile.
The antlers twist and gnarl, their white turns ashen like brimstone emitting a cloud of fiery ash that replaces the halo previously hiding behind them. His deer head loses what beauty it was once possessed, turning primal and crude, the white fur similarly to the leg’s taint with darkness, melding into the room’s. His once radiant eyes turn serpentine, gleaming with malice as natural as one can get, burning with the flames of the Abyss Below. His garments turn black, riddled with holes and tears resulted by the natural habitat of the figure. His fingers grow in length ever so slightly, the majestic bluish nails turn to coal like claws and a long tail splitting in two fork ends crackling with sparks grow out from the skirt part of his garment.
“Seems ye are practiced beyond what I’ve felt.” The howling wind rapidly increases, the flames of the torches and sconces flickering intensely, the shadows flailing around in panic while soft wailing fills the chambers while the few tattered banners depicting various events of dark elven history, including one illustrating a tall figure draped in the finest of robes, surrounded by three sinister figures. After several minutes passed by with a small storm inside the chambers, the wind stops and the flames previously snuffed out lit up in unison.
The newly lit warm lights reveal shadows of various figures on the floor, some humanoid, others not so much in perfect intervals with outlines of mouths speaking with silence, staring emptily at the devil with their arms slowly rising, touching each other’s. The dread he feels increases with each passing moment, silently racking his brain for ways to dispel the summoning triangle forcing him to truth.
“I am Ferthur, The Great Earl of the Twenty Sixth Layer of the Abyss Below.” Ferthur watches the Nameless carefully, then after a bit of while slowly bows down his scar tattoo riddled chest partially hidden under his ancient garment from a bygone era. He introduces himself, his voice now rough, deep echoing within the small chamber housing treasures of power, wealth and history. The smoke extends, billows behind him like enormous wings of a bet, blocking the background. The whispers change in his sharpened ears with jagged edges, the dread he feels slowly subsides into nothingness as the Nameless walks down from the pedestal like an ethereal wraith, slowly standing in front of Ferthur.
“I ask ye once again. What is it that ye seek?” Ferthur lifts his head up slowly, his eyes crackling with a primal interest as his voice fills the void of the chamber, staring into the white softly pulsing pearls of the Nameless, his wide mouth frozen into a grin, showing his rows of rotten teeth dripping with smoky shadows.
“I/we seek two kinds of knowledge. One that satisfies my/our ceaseless ambitions.” The Nameless speaks, deep, velvety and authoritative voice assimilating with the constant whispers of a hundred if not thousand voices that would bleed the ears of a mortal. “And the other, the contract of Griggorn.”
**
Amidst the eerie silence that settled onto the cavernous courtyard of the dark elven haven, the enormous obsidian gates slowly creak open with a dry, rough wail revealing the slender feminine figure of Aivha with two taller than her silent figures draped in the darkness of the endless void and strange, contrasting armor with the roughness and texture of strange creatures’ bones.
“Welcome home, my child. Seems you prevailed with your mission.” Cacmieh standing in the front, towering over the much shorter Zoklaeth who still clutches heavily to his claymore that burns with an unholy light, greeting his apprentice with a smile veiled in fatherly affections, his arms held out, ready to embrace the young dark elven maiden.
“Thank you master.” Aivha softly whispers into his long sharp ears adorned with spheres of obsidians oozing with unnatural mana as the two embrace each other, creating a weird scenery while surrounded by eyes gleaming with distrust and emptiness, the air slowly being filled with an unearthly coldness that grips the not fully tainted souls. The undead of the Nameless slowly fill the side but stop after one of the Arnyak raises its shifting arm hidden behind porcelain like bony glove in the air. Cacmieh’s eyes gazing every little detail of the undead inside the courtyard, taking in every little hidden detail, processing them with care before sharing.
“We should talk somewhere else, away from prying eyes.” Cacmieh speaks with a soft voice as he surveils the row of warrior caste with his unmoving eyes. “Do you have a problem with that?”
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“Then we should talk in the meeting chamber. Acniss would like to hear about this.” Few seconds pass by before Zoklaeth speaks, his sight remaining on the two ever silent Arnyak towering behind Aivha.
“That is true.” The elder Arch-Magus replies quickly, masking his discontent with his motionless voice. The crowd of dark warriors and maguses draped in fine robes split apart in a straight line letting them traverse towards the gaping maw leading into labyrinthian corridor system.
**
The enormous door of obsidian kind with bluish black hard surface adorned with intricate designs of the dead of noble kind slowly close shut, hiding the dark elves guarding it vigilantly on the other side. On the inside a silence fell on six of whom three sat in thrones of dark stone each less noble than the other.
Acniss on the right with her alluring face veiling her interest under a motionless mask sitting the most regally, Cacmieh opposite to her on the left sitting like a statue frozen in time, his eyes searching for secrets of magical kind while remaining still. Zoklaeth in middle, facing Aivha with a stern look, his brutish face contorting with wrinkles as he wrestles against his instincts that scream to lunge at the two silent Arnyak behind the young dark elven maiden.
Aivha clutches her right hand into a fist and quickly hits her chest while bending her knees, her head softly hunched down.
“Seems you have not lost your manners in your absence.” Acniss speaks first, her voice a sweet melody to all who can hear it. “Now, let’s not waste any time with needless pleasentries. Now tell us everything you can about this… necromancer.” Her ruby eyes tilting towards the two quiet figures behind Aivha.
“I cannot tell you too much your Excellency, besides him being a moon elf from the North, and what I confirmed during our first surveillance.” Aivha slowly rises, speaking with outmost respect as she faces the dark elven beauty. “But I do can add that ever since then, his army grew exponentially in size, and in equipment too. Undead dwarves, elves and orcs work endlessly after the reignition of the smitheries in the city.”
“But what is the cost of his services.” Zoklaeth’s firm voice stops Aivha from continuing, her face about to show signs of her maddening fervent, shifting to slight anger as the half-blood cuts into her words, only for a moment before it changes into a tender smile.
“To guard the Upper Stratum in case of intruders from the Over World when he defeats the dragon.” Silence falls once again as she speaks without hesitation, as if she already foreseen it. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“How can you be sure of that? If he loses and we side with him, the rage of the dragon will erase us.” Cacmieh leans forwards in his throne and says with a cold tone, now eyeing Aivha with clear suspicion. “We need more than words.”
“Do not worry Master, I am well aware that action proves more than words, and I can guarantee you’ll see the proof.” She turns to him, her eyes uncaringly gleaming with confidence once again, a certain coldness spreading unpleasantness within, making him trying to distance himself further into the cold. hard throne of his. “Soon, you’ll get your results, I’ll vouch my life for that.”
**
Cacmieh stood silently in front of the massive entrance of shadow hewn stone, marked with sigils of loathsome nature. The two Graven Knights vigilantly standing at both ends move in unison with just a flicker of his fingers. Cacmieh waits till the two disappear in the dim shadows, the clanking of their weighty armor crafted from ingots harvested from the walls of the Bottom Layer inaccessible to them no more.
Cacmieh uttered the words, his voice echoing within the dimly lit space in the depths of the haven, carrying the will of malevolence in the air. The sigils glowed faintly on the rough dark surface like stars on the clear night sky, offering their light to the lost. Foul stench of ash and rot escapes from the slowly widening gap followed by a dark light, reminiscent of a setting sun darkening in sinister tones.
With careful steps, Cacmieh arrives to the circular center, a hotness that heats even his soul assaults him from the right stuffing his soul with hatred, disgust and a murderous rage, a tender wind blows him from the right carrying a soft wailing filled with never ending sorrow, filling his mind with the dread of abandonment, a stomach-churning stench invades his nostrils, prompting him to gulp down the contents of his early lunch. Lights hidden from his eyes lit up the magnanimous chamber revealing the three demonic figures separated on the edges of the circular room.
“I thought you would never come my dear. I thought you would leave us like him.” Cacmieh falls onto his knees, spreading his gaudy robes. The feminine figure of a pale lady spoke in a soothing, low soft voice filled with sadness that gripped even Cacmieh’s cold heart. Her hair hung down like strands of a web, black and glistening with and eerie sheen that seemed to shift and change in the flickering light, at least six curving bony structure sprouting from the top. Her eyes empty, and dark like a sea of emptiness, her wide neatly shaped lips dark and inviting, the only thing allowing him to resist is the knowledge that they are laced with death. Her slender body standing several meters high draped in sleek, dark robe that barely covers her body.
“I would never commit such folly my Mistress.” Cacmieh speaks, his usually cold, demeanor less voice now filled with panic. The feminine devils dark lips contort into a wicked smile, revealing the tip of her blindingly white fangs.
“Enough of your tricks Eurydice” A loud clang of the long metallic spear of infernal kind rings through the space, the uncomfortable sound sending his body into a faint quiver. A deep, crackling soul shaking voice brimming with never ending rage and intensity that shakes the rocky walls and ceiling. Cacmieh turns around with a certain elegant smoothness looking at the at least four meters tall primal demon of wrath whose inhumane bipedal body is half naked upwards, revealing numerous scars of battles time immemorial, pulsing with the light of the never-ending flames of wrath. His hard-skinned legs covered in infernal scaled armor with an ethereal loincloth of crimson dripping blood to the ground below. Two large curving horns decorating his elongated monstrous reptilian like head adorned with flaming jewels for eyes frozen in hatred.
“He is right Eurydice, these are not times to waste for tricks.” The putrid smell he got used to intensifies as the guttural, yet still somewhat majestic voice of the third, primal demon resonates through the space, reaching the pointy ears of Cacmieh carrying stench and flies, while the faint and slow sound of flesh tearing, bones breaking and teeth grinding could be heard from the front.
As he faces the elder demon, the grotesque visage of a torso of a skinny man past his prime in faded, stained royal attire slithering over an amalgamation of maws like petals of a fleshy rose growing out from a tumor of necrotic, moldy belly that spreads over the natural obsidian platform. A long grin is slit open in its wide surface, rows of teeth gnawing on an unfortunate moon elven slave, his mature masculine face, deformed and malnourished plastered with a total lack of hope, a desire of death as the razor sharp teeth slowly digs into his smooth white abdomen, slowly and almost methodically. Cacmieh’s eyes carefully evade the almost lifeless eyes of the moon elf, silently praying that the elder demon’s hunger is satisfied for the foreseeable future.
“Now, if I’m correct you’re here to inquire about the strange undead you showed us.” The eldest of the demonic triumvirate speaks. His skinny, well dressed upper body slithers towards Cacmieh, the mass of gnarled tongues connecting to the grotesque flower of a lower body extends unnaturally with a slimy noise, his cold dry hands touch and lift Cacmieh’s handsome and young androgynous elven face, Beelzebub’s wicked greenish eyes staring into his.
“Yes, your highness. I’m here to seek your wisdom.” Cacmieh speaks, his disgust and slight fear veiled by his sheer willpower. His infernal tattoos carved into his exposed upper body lit up with a sinister orangish light, bile piling up in his soul, an abnormal hunger gnawing at his being.
“Not much I can add, the true nature of those figures is veiled by forces not of this world.” The Elder Demon speaks slowly as the visions of the undead slowly marching inside the courtyard flashes through his vision.
“What a shame. I truly wanted to taste her. But this feels familiar.” His eerie voice filled with the sorrow of a child whose craved dish has been taken by another as he gazes upon the Aivha the moment the two embraced each other.
“What do you mean?” Cacmieh asks with confusion.
“You already noticed it, don’t you. She is different, not in a conventional way so to speak.” The skinny upper body of the Elder Demon slithers back, his gnawing on the moon elven slave intensifies as signs of faint anger show on his face, similar to a children’s whose long desired sweet has been taken by another. “Like another soul has been sewn onto hers.”
“This kind of magic, seems alien yet familiar. I have sensed this stench a long time ago. Is it not familiar to you, my friend?” His face contorts into one of deep thinking, recollecting memories tucked deep into his vile psyche, then he turns to his hulking kin, the flames of hellfire lightning through his dark metallic body.
“My memory is not that better than yours. But I do recall this sensation of cold emptiness. But it is impossible to be him, unless he found a way to evade the Maker’s eyes.” Cacmieh turns with a strange look at the elder demon of wrath who for the first time in his experience, speaks with a calm demeanor as he too gets lost in memories, a faint smile forming on his monstrous face as memories of the greatest battles he fought in flash in his mind.
“We will need more time to mull on this my friend. But we can say for certainty that whoever this necromancer is, they have the backing of someone of the same power as the Deadfire, maybe even stronger.” Silence settles on the room, even the gnawing stops for a few moments as the two primal demons reminiscent of a time immemorial to the dark elven Arch-Magus while the third, devil sits down with a bored look on her face.
“Now, the question is should you enter into an alliance with them?” The Elder Demon turns to Cacmieh and asks while he slowly imitates sitting on a throne, resting his elbows on the sharp fangs growing out from the edges of maws.
“I personally would vouch for a temporary alliance and see how things go. If they can defeat that overgrown lizard, well that is all upsides for you isn’t it. And if they don’t you can still change sides and bow before him” A dry laughter follows the end of his sentence, spreading mucus all over. Then the obsidian hewn gates behind Cacmieh start to open, the lights slowly dying out leaving the chamber in total darkness filled with the disgusting sound of gnawing as Cacmieh leaves contemplating the next steps.