The Path
Aside from the sound of plate on stone, little else could be heard. Only the creak and groan of ancient wood as roots slithered amongst themselves in the walls of the passage. It brought an undeniable sense of life to something that may have otherwise seemed inanimate. Yet, something else lurked in the darkness. Something that had drawn her to the hollow in the first place. Death. It twisted and coiled around the life, like a gentle caress of a waiting lover.
The passage led downwards, the only illumination cast from some eerie glow at the terminus of the descent. It seemed far off still, even as long as she had been plunging into the depths. An illusion perhaps, she thought to herself. Just then, her sword rattled and shook upon her back, a hundred groaning voices wretching out at her. ‘Why are we here? We should not be -here-. We must leave… Do not take us further… You will not fi-...’ Her tone was harsh and commanding in return.
“-Silence-. I care not what you ‘think’. I care not what -you- desire. The only will that matters here is my own and I -will- find the answers I seek. Be still now, lest your usefulness to me finds an early end.” One more rattle of protest sounded before the sword lay still, defiance quashed in a moment. Sickly green swirled in her eyes as she gazed down the passage, which suddenly seemed to be drawing to an end. Confident as ever, her feet stepped onto the final plane. The glow radiated through the cracks of squirming roots, casting strange shadows over her. Shadows that almost seemed to be searching her for something. If they were searching for something, they found her worthy of entry. Yet again, the roots creaked and slithered their way from her path, revealing an inner chamber made of stone. Triangular in shape, she found herself entering along a wall that formed an edge of said triangle. The ceiling of the chamber seemed to reach upwards for an eternity, darkness consuming it perhaps thirty feet up from the ground. From one corner of the chamber, from that consuming darkness, wispy tendrils of dark magic reached down down and towards the center of the space. If one paid attention, they could see faint strands of luminescent emerald magic creeping and twining from all over the chamber, culminating in a twisting braid in another corner of the room, again, reaching towards the center. The final angle of the space, the very reality of the room seemed to spark and pop, vivid splashes of full spectrum colors bursting and imploding silently. As with the others, this energy seemed to make its way towards the center of the chamber.
Mynaetha eyed each of the magics that seeped, eventually letting her gaze fall on where they seemed to meet. As she did, a feeling like being gripped by the heart pulled on her, like something was willing her towards the center. While she may have resisted in most other instances, she let the pull draw her in, the clank of her plated feet sounding hollow in the space. With every step, she drew closer to what appeared to be a triangular dais, carved of stone that almost looked like it was decaying with age. What truly drew her eye though, was the object that hung in the air above the pedestal. A mask, fashioned to look like a leering skull. From between the jaws, roots burts and coiled about the thing, as if that was the language the mask spoke in. Unnatural darkness clung to the sockets, likely concealing the eyes of the wearer. The air seemed to grow still once she was near, even the magics freezing in place. Almost like a whisper on the wind, a set of voices carried to her ears.
‘Until the last have fallen..’
‘Until the last breath has been drawn…’
‘Until the balance is no more…’
‘Walk between, death as your shield…’
‘Life your guide…’
‘Chaos your blade…’
‘Wear the mask…’
‘Become our…’
‘Trivagante…’
Mynaetha’s ever cautious eyes darted around the chamber, searching for the source of the… Not one… But three voices. Yet, she found herself standing alone, magics frozen in time around her, the eyeless visage staring back at her from where it hung above the pedestal. That was when saw it, a small roll of parchment tucked neatly at the base of the dais.
Reaching down, she took it up between plated fingers. The cord that tied it, saw a shudder begin to rise in the base of her neck, the colors and patterns calling back memories she struggled to recall. Through sheer force of will alone, the muscles of her body clenched, hardening her against the coming attack of her own lapsed mind. Carefully, she drew the cord from the parchment, fingers trembling with the effort of not losing control. Before she unrolled to read, she wrapped the cord about a finger, tying it off much like a ring.
Only once that was done, did she unroll the small scroll and peer within. Almost immediately her head juddered, threatening to violently snap to one side. Every once of will she could must was summoned though, and she managed to keep her eyes on the parchment.
‘Kal’dalah,
I have searched for so long, you are all that is on my mind. One gentle caress, one last look into the depths of your eyes. I could die in peace if only I might have those gifts. I will never stop. The path between until I find you.
Surfas’dor’
As she stood there, shaking, the only thought that kept crawling through her mind was ‘he has been here’. Which meant she had finally found his trail. How far behind she was, she had no idea but… Finally… She had found the path he walked. Ever so carefully, she rolled the parchment back up and tucked it away, the last vestiges of the near seizure fading from her figure. Standing to her full height, inky eyes regarded the mask that seemed to stare her down. With the scroll, she felt no hesitation. A hand reached, grasping the mask. Only for a moment, did she consider not placing it upon her face, the carved innards calling to her. ‘The path between…’ The three voices whispered on the wind, just as she rose the mask and placed it upon her visage.
‘Trivagante…’
Part One.