The revelation of the sands of his impending doom began to flow out from the flask struck him the moment the two walked out from the gap and he made out the sharp aevhen features of Sussuoroth.
Two long years passed when he first met with the aurhe whom he first taught as a refugee from the northern regions where the first wave of the tenth legion broke into their kingdom, capturing the smaller towns. Gogh was amongst the stonemasons ordered to the construction of the outer walls as the Pharaoh decreed the expansion of the city to accommodate the homeless lambs flocking to the promised city.
Even though he appeared well-fed, in a healthier state than the other refugees, the two quickly became good friends as the aurhe called out to him and asked if he could help out in the work, proving his prowess in the shaping of earthen matter.
Two years passed, and Sussuoroth made the work he done and the work he already was passionate about ever more joyous as he taught him better ways to mold limestone and basalt, of the weird yet humorous idioms of the north while also endorsing his drinking in the tavern, helped in swaying the courtesans Gogh had a hard time speaking to even while he was on the brink of dead drunkenness.
Yet even as they walked in the hallway, he could not force himself to kill the one who deprived him of a long and joyful life. The simple reason for this was simply fear of being alone down in the vaults where nightmarish beasts and undead walked in unknown numbers, and with prowess most definitely greater than his both in physical and arkhaine terms.
Sussuoroth was the only reason the beast who snuffed the life out from the merkin did not notice him, he thought to himself. He was also no killer, though his father taught him a few techniques to protect himself, but in this situation, it may just give away their position. For now he had to be patient, if there was an exit, they shall find it and then he shall have his chance.
Just as he reached this conclusion within, the two halted in their tracks when they noticed the ascending stairs in a wider gap between the towering statues whose waist above were swallowed by the complete darkness. The two stood there for moments, contemplating if there was some arkhaine trap, an illusion similar to the one which stopped them from reentering their entry points.
Then Gogh felt the wind sweep against his back, ascending into the dim stairs which he quickly pointed out to his former friend. With that, the two began their ascent, making careful but somewhat hasty steps as the thought of nightmarish beast appearing from behind was a not too savory thought they had.
Whilst they ascended, Gogh surveyed the limestone walls on their sides, taking in each of the strangy hieroglyphs and carvings consisting of horrifying shapes including those of the dreaded southern worms who beckoned their victims with their sweet, cinnamon odor, though this specimen was carried by legions of rotting, skeletal figures in ritualistic garments towards a great black aperture like some exotic, rare delicacy on a large garnished plate.
For a short moment, his body quivered at the thought of this place acting as the feeding grounds to some horror from beyond.
On the top, the two halted in their tracks in the circular room with twisting, ophidian pillars growing high into the shadowy firmament placed unevenly as they spiraled into the center of the room ornated by the lonesome basalt sculpture of an amorphous shape with a few bestial proportions toiling to break away.
Gogh’s attention was strangely drawn to the sculpture as he heard a distant thrumming in the distance soothing him as they slowly made their way around the bizarre sculpture.
On their left and right, stairs descended further into the abyssal depths, while in the front ascension beckoned them towards with gentle winds blowing from some distance aperture, satiating their sense of hopefulness towards their escape. Nonetheless their escape retreated as they became aware of distant steps approaching them, forcing the two to head into the corner.
Sussuoroth called upon the shadows silently, forming a thick bubble around them which insides proved transparent, allowing them to witness the march of the animated dead. A large group of rotting corpses in ceremonial garbs akin to the engravings on the walls of their previous ascent, except for their heads which were equally rotted heads of various animals sewn onto their necks.
Nor did they carry a mighty sand worm on an ornated plate, they simply headed towards the left descent while their variedly grotesque bestial heads muttered silent whispers of a language unknown to Sussuoroth and Gogh. Blood froze in both of them as the last of jackal head stopped in its measured steps and slowly turned towards their shrouded corner.
The dark tip of its nose, half-decayed away revealing pungent flesh trembled as the undead began to seek their scent. Its clawed, withered hand reached forward, almost touched the foggy wall unseen to its empty eye sockets occupied by an orchid light. Then its last remaining ear trembled and Gogh noticed it sneer while it turned around and followed in the footsteps of the others, descending further into the belly of the vaults.
Several moments passed as the two awaited in silence before Sussuoroth erased the shadowy walls and two continued their ascent while Gogh pondered while the living dead sneered and felt unease staring at the gaping darkness where the wind headed upwards. Was there truly an exit to this nightmarish place, he though to himself before heaving a sigh and forcing his tired legs onto the increasing steps.
**
Hours passed as they ascended towards the uncertain exit with the gloomy limestone walls engraved with strange hieroglyphs once more, but this time carved with maddened strokes and overlapping as if they author were slowly driven into the mouth of madness.
Even though Gogh could not understand a single glyph, their position, their interjection imbued him with a primal, existential fear one worse than the terror of finality many a brave warriors push away with lies of confidence. Like his old father who promised to return and witness the first structure he aided in its birth, telling that neither the Solemn Shepherd nor the Gray King shall claim him, neither those of the pesky legionaries of the fraud Empire promising peace and prosperity, forcing collars and shackles in their place for the pariah kin.
Then suddenly Gogh collapsed as a wave of nauseous sensation swept against his body and collapsed onto the steps and almost fell back whence, they came if not for Sussuoroth’s timely grab and hold using the last of his own waning strength.
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For the first time since he was plummeted down, Gogh wheezed heavily while the cold stairs cooled his body from behind and he pushed the thoughts onto his tongue and inquired to his former friend what beget the aurhe to choose him.
Sussuoroth remained silent for several moments, only his heavy breathing filled the wide space where the wind beckoned them towards ascension. Then at last he uttered the words which hurt the most “There was no particular reason other than aiding in my work.”
Gogh looked surprised and laughed softly instead of forcing his will upon reality to draw air out from the body of Sussuoroth. His being scorched in anger aimed at himself and at the aurhe, and he felt regret for showing kindness to strangers.
For a moment, the prospect of accursed existence felt promising just to enact his welling anger not just on his betrayer, but those who sought to end the promised kingdom of the Black Pharaoh. This momentary though proved to be short lived, as he felt cold vibrations irritate his whole body slinking downwards towards the endless dimness.
A familial malodorous scent burnt their noses and rejuvenated the two as they quickly realized who or what this scent belonged to as they noticed the wicked pair of orchid light appear in the dark distance. With their renewed strength and conviction of survival, the two charged up the steps from where the draught of cold wind swept their exposed chests.
As they neared towards the end of the ascent, they snickered out in unison and leapt over the last few steps, landing on even ground. Though they had little time for merriment as the vibrations strengthened across their forms, and the two hurriedly descended the steps of the vast chamber slanting inwards.
In the center, they halted to catch their breath while standing on what felt like basalt to Gogh though as much as he wished to inspect the hewn platform, he opted to continue their rush forward. This option proved vainly as they both hurled from each other as a loud roar of basalt and limestone shattering rang through the whole chamber.
As Gogh looked up laying on the floor, he noticed the hulking figure of the Horror slowly walk towards Sussuoroth who already stood on two, walking backwards while hurling radiating spells of differing swirly shapes against gauzed form of the beast. Whilst most simply dispersed into void upon impact, those with firmer curves resembling cubicles or hedrons exploded in a small but violent storm of iuboron matter burning away the gloomy gauzes.
Beneath the few exposed holes, flesh most unnatural and hideous revealed itself in the company of an even stronger caustic, rancid odor. Though his further horror, long appendages grew forth them of overlapping forearms missing their hands, in their place he saw a gaping hole not realizing it to be sharpened ends like javelins or spears shaped from the same darkness occupying the space.
Air breezed against his form once more, freeing him from the grip of terror and he swiftly raised onto his feet and marched further into the shadows until he the sounds of battle lessened, and an aperture fitting for his lithe form appeared to be hewn into the limestone wall.
Gogh turned around before entering, feeling guilt and confusion as he listened to the screams of Sussuoroth calling his name for help. Though then he remembered his words and spit on the ground before he got swallowed by the aperture – fit for him.
**
At the end of the narrow passage, Gogh halted in his tracks and felt a strange calmness as he noticed the absence of the deathly odor, the trembling of the ground and his body or the bestial distorted growl which hastened his steps for the last few meters.
He stood in the utter dark alone, regret lingering within as he looked at his own hands, tickled by the wind he himself called upon to cool the scorching of his body. Then as he looked up, he stared back at the same pitch black surface which occupied the space of the oval arch from which he entered the infinite hallway.
Knowing there was no route back anymore, he turned to face the vast expanse of blackness with pristine, limestone floor stretching into the boundless distance. With careful steps he moved forward, following the natural wind sweeping his small form while occasionally looking left and right when his mind made up small noises, footsteps, laughter, crying and distant shrieks.
Without noticing a single thing, hours passed by with him walking forward, terrified by the little noises seeping into his mind, forcing tears to be birthed in the corners of his tired eyes which he slowly closed down, hurling himself into the safety of the imaginary warm, homely interior of his favored tavern.
A wide sandstone counter stretching from one side of the wall to the other, behind it the towering djinn owner with a form honed through centuries long life, curving goat like horns, hair of an ethereal quality and density, large bulging eyes of pitch blackness.
Beneath him, a comfortable padded chair reaching high, his back gently stroked by the soft hands of the aurhen courtesan in whose presence he could not utter a word, be it kind or drunkenly rude until Sussuoroth entered into his life. A sweet courtesan who always offered her a warm smile gentle like the twilight light soothing the body, who peachy, calming scent beckoning his eyes and heart, and the one he would have been content with to be for the rest of his life.
Yet before anymore could materialize, Gogh opened his eyes when wetness spread onto his toes, and felt the wind stopping once and for all. Before him a black lake stretched far and wide and he scratched his head standing before it.
He was no expert of geography, be it above or below ground, but he still found it strange the existence of an ebony lake. Coldness coiled around his spine with the reason for it evading his mind as he focused once more on his escape.
With no way to reroute, he called as much air as he could around his head and sealed it off in a bubble while forcing his whole body to leap into the dark waters. He swam first down into the abyssal depths noticing a strange, queer light glowing in the distance which he thought to be a void within the walls, the earthen layers leading outside.
As he forced more and more power into his slender arms, for the first time arriving down, realized there were no tiredness assailing him, a thought that seemed to be a sign for his eventual escape. As he changed trajectory to swam a bit forward, he began to ponder whether to return to the promised city of Khardrath.
Is it good idea to chance a return, to once more try to prove his innocence? Or is it better to just chance wandering the domed wastes of the desert, where starving worms swim under his steps? These thoughts and many others danced then faded as he once more thought of his father, and what he would do in this situation.
Gogh pushed the thoughts deep, and focused on the old memory as the weightlessness of swimming in the abyss once more reminded him of the sweet memory of his father flinging him high up in the air just as the Illius began to change into its nightly state. Its warm, amber shades began their swirling change into darker shades of mauve and crimson while spreading the same utter darkness which surrounded him.
And just like that day, he saw the bizarre movement in the utter dark akin to the trembling of pieces of sand when the worms move under them. He saw the cracks in the dark forming, the translucent mist glowing with a color he never saw before, filling him with weirdly harmonized dread and confidence, joy and sadness, and a form forcing half his lip to curve up the other down, one eye crying with delight, the other with misery and his mind with confusion and understanding.
Just like then when he hovered first in the air with the aid of the myriad winds, he spread his arms and legs out and let his body sink towards the oddly calming light which parted into three meanwhile.
He descended for days, weeks, months and years until he reached the bottom where his silent scream echoed into the numberless voids of reality.