Hidden Sarcophagus Chamber

[U SO MAD BRO]

If this were a tale of insanity, then Alistair just stumbled upon the rabbit hole but this was no wonderland. The Sarcophagus Chambers have been deformed beyond recognition by an ancient being's magic, Herod has summoned shadows, shrouded himself in darkness; all to protect him and to assist i the ritual that forms the key part of his plan.

As the King walked down the corridor, cysts and vines burst, spraying the stink of pus and gore. His sudden swarm of flames only added to the putrid odor and releasing a billowing perfume of Dreadmist. Great clouds of it gathered, tumbling and rolling forth so that the intruder could barely see 5ft in front of his face. Whispers all around him echoed, their whereabouts unknown but they laughed at him just the same. As the hybrid entered a large chamber, he'd never know. Just that the long fleshy hallway had corners and he had reached a chamber. Was this the right one? Or were there many others?

From both sides of him, the sound of groaning rock and then it stopped. Wings flapping, claws outreached, one Gargoyle headed straight for him as it approached from the right. The other flew high, circling from above in the mists. These were the first of the guardians.

 

[U SO MAD BRO]

Once the flames shot from the floor to the ceiling of the corridor, the Gargoyles stood no chance, both fell backwards. Their skin charred and hardening under such brutal conflagration. Low whimpers and groans echoed from their bellies as Alistair simply walked on by, it was a cool casual stroll through copious amounts of the Dreadmist.

"Welcome to the pack, Beta," the voice low, almost guttural. Yet, it was close, all around and while still far off. "I hope this experience will make you respect me - actually, yourself. You see, you are now my kin. I have given you a piece of my life. Therefore, your loyalty to me is forced by a certain connection." It still continued, coyly tempting the hybrid as he advanced, descending further into the lair of madness. There was no light, no way for him to tell how deep he had already ventured. Though soon a humanly form would take shape several feet in front of the hybrid, it was the root of the voice. It was slightly hunched over and then stood tall, dark muscles taking shape as the being he knows. "Let us begin," he merely spoke as shadow shot toward the King. It was transforming, claws extended, pitch fur protruding from the backside of this devilish beast. It wasted no time closing the distance between the two of them. Vicious, bloodlusting teeth formed, the maw twisting as the shadow would find any route to Alistair's neck that it had to take.



• The Shadow of Pain C
The second shadow. This shadow can be manipulated to take the form of whatever you like. It can break into a blade and shield, very sturdy and very capable of variating through forms. It can turn into a bow, an axe, anything. More importantly, the shadow can crawl onto the enemy once they've made impact with whatever it is that you have molded it into. If, for example, the enemy were to strike your shadowed blade, it would crawl along the length of their weapon (and quickly), making it to their neck in an attempt to strangle them. Or their ears to poke out their ear-drums. Or their eyes to... well, you get the idea. The shadow lasts for six posts, and is slightly sturdier and sharper than steel. The shadow can also coat itself around spells, increasing their strength by one rank, although this completely absorbs the shadow.

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[U SO MAD BRO]

Obsidian teeth dug into the frozen structure of what was once Alistair, the bittersweet cold coating a thick permafrost over its head until was completely submerged. A low whistle cried out in a final protest, front claws scratched, its body thrashing violently back and forth. Then a blazing comet put it out of its misery. The denizen dissipating into the mists once again as the crystallized head shattered upon hitting the fleshy stonework. He was alone for the time being. There was no laughter, no sound what so ever, in fact it was eerily quiet.

He would find himself turning corners now, left then right, right again. Slowly but surely he was making his way to the main chamber. The walls grew thicker with vines, the floors pooling with puddles of blood, and the smell of decay grew worse to the point that any normal person would be nauseated. Alistair knew he was making headway, surely the disgusting entrails of life a tell-tale sign.

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[U SO MAD BRO]

He faced his past and prevailed but this was far from over. The corridors shifted, their fleshy membranes almost breathing. deaden skin expanding and collapsing much like Alistair's heart in defiance of the ugly beast awaiting his approach.

"I wasn't born this way." A whisper echoed.

The walls began to bubble, another shadow birthing forth from the bastardized puckered womb , crawling out of the wall and reforming. Gradually the figure climbed higher and higher, standing exactly the same height as Alistair. It is a resulting collision, a mountain he is forced to concur.

Its mouth did not move and still words filtered through, jagged spikes rippling in the disturbance. "I was born as a Vampire."

The shadow stepped closer, mimicking the mans movement. If he stopped, so did it. His hand raised, it gestured the same. His greatest torment from the past's inheritance within him and the power resulting from it. He would notice the outline, a muscular build with its ebbing hair pulled back. Then it moved up the wall, clinging to the ceiling before submerging itself. It waited, coyly calculating before the vicious beast fell from right above Alistair's head to land upon him. The shadowy psuedo-hybrid has his claws extended, aiming to come away with any parts of this 'real' being. If there had to only be one of them, it would fight just as hard as the master it was made from.



• Prowling in the Dark B
The third shadow. This shadow is actually a thinking creature, although it doesn't think much other than methods to kill the enemy. It can enter walls and objects and remain hidden, but once it's out, you'll see that it's a very large and vicious creature. The shadow is in the shape of the vampire, and it lunges and claws at the enemy without relent. Its stats are just like a vampire's at base (6/6). The shadow will generally not simply go feral on you unless there's no other option. Usually, it acts like a more intelligent, more mobile version of the "First Shadow". It'll enter walls, the floor, and try to restrain you or assassinate you. It lasts for five posts before fading out.

 

[U SO MAD BRO]

The malicious prowler smirked, drools of pitch weft from its teethy maw. It had the first strike and just as it started to slip into the stonework flooring, flames shot up, igniting the corridor in torrents of fire. It roared, the blazing holocaust annihilating, viciously ripping away the shadows form until nothing remained but scorch marks and ash. True it would be alarming for one to face himself, a maddening experience that toyed not only with the sense but the mind as well. Alistair, himself, was full of secrets. Ones buried deep and tucked away behind closed doors.

'Why be afraid of a door?' Words floated in the dead space. Shadows existed around him, he was trapped within a tetragonal womb, and at this basest form his energy reacted as a euphoric hallucinogen with the living being held within it. His humanity ebbed and as it waned the animalistic drive inside of him, the primal course flowing through his veins to conquer and control, swelled to crash against the coast of his conscious.

He was strong though, still making headway along the nightmarish path, turning corners left and right, and then he came to a long stretch of nothingness. The 'hallway' simple, no longer covered in grotesque residue. In fact, it was coated in an earthy clay, a tint of copper red even. He was still able to find a good grip as boots smacked against it, carrying him forward once more. At the opening, high archways over head, a pool of liquid was before him and a grand working of staircases behind of it. Great spans of silky cloth covered the walls and came together in one large central point at the back wall. It was the chamber he was searching for but it appeared no one was here.

 

[U SO MAD BRO]

The large rectangular pool fills most of the room, its waters are clouded and dark, though it does not appear deep. Perhaps it looked too much like his home, his grand estate, the only difference was the lack of elaborate decor and this very pool. To peer, unblinking, into wanderlusts bloodied mirror. A grasping madness not found, but remembered…and it felt like the world was fading. That he was walking through is own memories, suspended in a realm of make believe and what ifs. The water began to ripple, minuet waves crashing against the tiled edge. Alistair's words were the factor of chaos. His inquisition slammed the sledgehammer against brick wall. Red stopped her seething and listened, the psychic figure rising from the current as he leaned slightly over her pool. Her vermillion eyes gazed at him with sorrow and tenderness, her lips moved silently as if they dared not to say his name out loud for prying ears. Her crimson mane hung, cascading over curves in attempt to cover virtues. She was the siren, a spectral pursuing his mind and affections. The longer she stayed before him, naked hips pressing against the sterile ceramics, the more her back arched as if he held some invisible string to the deadened heart.

Then the ruby crescents he searched dulled, their splendor dying gradually.

"The amount of satisfaction...."

Her chest heaved, and she pushed away from him. Betrayal sealing itself under the jet lashes, the waters pushing up its goddess while blood dripped from the rising swells beneath her lids.

"...I received when I heard of your demise..."

His words echoing in the chamber, filling and spilling in to their ears. She knew them well, reliving this moment, time and time again. A parallel universe that he would see. Her fists clenched, head lowering, she was staring no longer at him but past, at the very opening he came from. Anger. It boiled the water, shaking the frail walls of reality, shattering rationality.

"How did you think I would feel? Throw me aside again. " Her voice echoing. "How could you do this to me? Was it good enough for you?" Words were her weapons, throwing daggers at him rapidly as her tears grew somber. "No one is ever good enough for you. I was never good enough and yet, you couldn't walk away. Why? WHY?!" The pitter patter of tears violently quaked the blood, lapping it up and over the edge. "You want to know....You want to know...how long I've waited for you. How could you do this to me?"

The pain cracked her voice, head tilted back to look skyward. "How could you..." It was meek, a weak plea. Then the waters burst forth with life. Great spears of obsidian earth coiled and whirled to life. Their impalement came from all directions, one after the other coming from her but they didn't just aim for him, some slid into her. One jutting from her pale thigh, oozing blood, the other stabbing in to her arm. Red screamed, seething in the pain and despair that he brought upon her. Still the spears came forth, the floor crumbling in the torrents. Another one shot through her back and protruded from rib, a red mist flying through the air. She wasn't only trying to tear him apart but herself in the process. This was her death that he created. Though the screaming wasn't without cause of its own, behind him shadows grew like a flowing cape before they disappeared into the shaking ground. When he moved, so did they, leaping from their hidden spot to maim him in anyway possible; clawing, stabbing, they wanted to dismantle him, deconstruct him like she was doing to herself.

Then her screams stopped. Spears continued to rip her apart until her body fell limp, soon there was nothing left but brittle bone, flesh, and blood.

• The Last Shadow A
This is, by all intents and purposes, a very powerful spell. It is a spell named after a vampiric legend. There was once an order of vampires who made a deal with a powerful wizard. They became known as shadowalkers. They were named this, because in exchange for the first form of shadow magic, they suddenly and very instantly would combust upon entering any form of sunlight. Unlike their other vampiric kin, the sunlight could kill them at any time, rather than just bringing them pain. But -- some say that the sacrifice may have been worth it, for the power they obtained. They gained the greatest of the shadow abilities; the power to imbue true sentience into shadows. This ability is very simple. For nine posts, a great shadow will follow you. It can screw with people's emotions. The shadow is said to be made of blood, and this rumor comes with good reasoning. The shadow can screech and scream, with red haze filling the area around it. Of course, the shadow does nothing for the initial post other than its screeching. But, after the first one post of it simply resting behind you, the shadow will rise. And this shadow will give rise to other shadows, intelligent and cunning. They will rise around you from all sides, like a gown, and then disappear into the floor. There are eight of these, all similar to the Prowler of the Dark. They will make quick and deadly leaps from the ground and attempt to assassinate their target, before melding into the floor again. It's a very difficult ability to handle. Even for the greatest of foes.

Earth line x10
Rank: B
Requires: Earth column
Description: As an offensive attack you may create a line of twisted columns and propel it forward. These will be pointed at the tip thus creating a better chance of impaling the enemy.

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[U SO MAD BRO]

He was in hell. The swallowing terror within him was emblazoned in cyan eyes as they twitched frantically as his mind tried to comprehend the complete nightmare that she'd existed in within the last five or so minutes of her human life. Did he find satisfaction now? He had moved from death to life the somewhere that did not exist within a lifetime but outside of it and only as a world to torment those guilty of the most heinous of offenses against their fellow man, only to be regurgitated within the walls of a place that should never have existed at all. He was all that existed now, the only visual stimulation outside of the stark walls that encased them, within her glassy doe-like daze. There were no longer shadows, the jutting earth fell away and only the dead macabre remained. Red's body too badly dismantled in any hope of reanimation, she was gone. Now he was left with his own despair. It moved rampantly like a plague. It roared at his walls, trumpeting their holy word against Jericho, to only tear them down. It was probably one thing that saved him in that moment even though it came at a great cost. Her blood sprayed across his hot, tan pallor, the rich ichor littered in glossy dabs. It pooled beneath his feet, finely dusted with crystallized ore, perhaps the only parting gift she could give him in passing. It was his choice to partake, to replenish his depleted energy.

Or maybe it was all too much? He could live with guilt and continue on or...remain in that chamber with her, a tomb for two.

"You've played your part well. How long did you want to wish to play this game?" They were his words from the night he became her tamer, she had been standing before him, naked and weak, tremors quaking her like a fresh foal learning to stand. "Dying. It's frustrating, isn't it? What's worse is somehow returning to remember all of the mistakes you've made in the past. But you've got it easy." His voice echoing within the quiet chamber. "What I want... is for you to tell me what is it that you want from me? Are you here to do the same thing again? Gain my respect, then leave? You've seen very few sides of me, and you have yet to see me when my patience has worn thin. So I suggest you answer my question." But there was no answer, he was left alone.

The master of shadows had seen more than enough, the upper door opening to what would normally lead to Alistair's office...though what was awaiting inside was no extravagant desk and plush seating. It was the maker of madness, a sick, sadist being who enjoyed every minute of Alistair's turmoil. It only served to fuel his fight but he would wait for the hybrid to come to him, like everything else, he would see a true King.

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