The Artist and the Black Pyramid - A MorrisonCon Story
(To celebrate the five year anniversary of MorrisonCon please enjoy this short story I wrote after attending it in September 2012)
The artist stared out the window of his lodgings at the city of concrete and neon and greed known only as “The Strip.” His eyes were transfixed on a fountain of dirty light being vomited up towards the sky from a black tomb off in the distance. The wizard had spoke of it two nights prior, as the artist stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his brothers and sisters-in arms, all hanging on the wizard’s words as he told the tale of the last battle between good and evil. The tale of Walter Reed and the fall of the Pianomancer. The day’s festivities had finished, and finding little comfort in the trappings of the wasteland he had found himself in, the artist grew restless.
A decision was made.
The artist hit the street, dressed in the forty-dollar suit of armor he had bought just for this trip, he had worn it so much it didn’t feel right not to be wearing it at this point. It felt natural now, like a second skin. Sure it was warm in the heat and it made him sweaty but it would keep him safe. In his right pocket he carried his symbol as a member of the order for good luck and without telling a soul he head out in the wasteland between his lodgings and the city of sin staring intently at the far off signal in the sky. The Black Pyramid was calling him. Who was he to refuse?
The city of sin was even farther away from his lodge than it had originally seemed at the start of his journey and so the artist was all ready beginning to feel weary as he finally began to climb the spiraling staircase that would grant him access to it. Upon reaching the top an ocean of people swarmed around him and he fought against the stream as he continued towards his goal. At the base of another staircase underneath a giant’s chariot he found merchants offering talismans promising companionship, as if the city itself was saying “It’s dangerous to go alone, take this.”
Looking up towards the sky, the artist beheld choirs of angels floating high above the frozen bodies of fallen gods. He could hear them warning him, telling him to turn back, that only evil lie ahead. The people of the city, built somehow of plastic and bronze, seemed to hear the angels as well, as they all walked in the opposite direction of the artist, away from his intended destination. Determined, the artist pressed on.
Making his way across another bridge, the artist found himself staring at something familiar. A city from his past. A city he had fallen in love with and longed some day to return to. Right here. Right in the middle of the neon and glass of “The Strip.” But it was askew, crammed and compacted and rearranged to fit in an area much smaller than it needed to be. It was a distraction, a temptation, a lure, a cunning attempt by the Black Pyramid to make the artist forget his quest and find comfort in familiar surroundings. Unwavering, the artist pressed on.
Beyond the photocopy of the giant sentinel guarding the fractured reflection of the city from his memory, the artist came upon a castle. He noticed that the swarms of people he had once been fighting against had suddenly thinned. He was close, and the Black Pyramid was desperate. It threw anything it could at him now, some fanciful idea of an earlier time where noblemen fought for honor and justice. But it was just a shade, more tricks and illusions. Resolute, the artist pressed on.
Escaping the shadow of the castle the artist neared the end of his journey. A beam of light shot across the sky. Defying physics, it didn’t shoot straight up like you would expect, it instead loomed over the artist’s head, following the curve of the earth. At the base of this blade of light, the Black Pyramid finally revealed itself. Black glass that reflected no light covered its surface as electricity danced along its four edges. Coming closer, the artist started up at the unblinking eye of the tremendous animal that guarded it. He feared for a moment that the beast would suddenly notice him, and crush him underneath its giant paw. But as he stared up at it he found the eyes to be dead inside. It had died sometime ago. Breathing a small sigh of relief the artist continued towards the pyramid only to be greeted by ten sentinels guarding the path. He slowly walked past them praying his clearance sale armor would be enough to shield him from their eyes. The armor held. Cautiously, the artist pressed on.
As he finally reached the entrance to the forbidding tomb, the artist noticed something that caught him by surprise: the smell of coconut. He couldn’t ascertain the source, he was surrounded by stone and glass and steel and gasoline. But the smell hung in the air and reminded him of relaxing days with his family as a child. The last hurdle before he could gain entrance into the crypt of the Pianomancer’s corpse. He shook away the sensation. At last, having reached his destination, the artist pressed on.
Upon entering The Black Pyramid, the artist’s first thoughts were to find a way to the top, perhaps he could find the remains of the Pianomancer, he mused. But the labyrinthine interior offered him no easy path. Meandering through the corridors of bells and lights with no real path decided upon, the artist happened upon an unexpected sight. The red and yellow symbol of his faith stood shining in the distance, and the artist began toward it. To find such a symbol of hope and power in such an unlikely place was amazing. But as he drew closer a sickness filled his soul. The symbol that, to the artist, had represented all that was good and decent in this world had been twisted by the Black Pyramid into a monument of greed and selfishness. A glowing blue spire shot out of the ground and offered to satisfy your every earthly desire, and it had used something familiar to hide it’s true purpose. It was then the artist was finally forced to acknowledge his mistake. He had willingly entered into a place of pure evil. The artist thought he was answering a call to adventure, but it was a trap. It had always been. His entire being was overcome by a need to escape, to get as far away as possible. Somewhere, the Pianomancer laughed.
Exiting the tomb as quickly as he could the artist ran underneath the dead guardian and found himself under a spire with a bright glowing eye staring down right at him, as if it was staring into his soul. He began to panic. The evil had noticed him now. It wouldn’t let him leave so easily. The artist’s body began to betray him, the long journey had left him tired and the armor felt so heavy. The desire to remove it was tempting, so very tempting. But he would not waiver. He stood silently staring up at the eye, motionless and unblinking, and as a chariot approached the artist leaped into it without thinking twice.
The chariot left him at the castle he had passed earlier, and desperate to put as much distance between him and the pyramid as he could, the artist ran right through it to the other side and straight into the photocopy city. Just like the outside, the interior of the pretend metropolis reminded him of the real one of his past. But the illusion was completely shattered now. It was a pale plastic imitation, lacking anything resembling the real heart and soul of the actual city it desperately wanted to be. The artist escaped out into the walkways of city of sin, and noticed a giant sentinel that he had not seen when he had walked this path before. Luckily for him, the sentinel hadn’t noticed him either.
After another long stretch of twists and turns through glass and steel and neon the artist escaped from “The Strip” and began the journey back to his lodgings. He passed a small outpost he had noticed venturing out earlier that night, and confident he had evaded The Pianomancer’s ghost decided to pause for a moment to rest his feet and fill his belly. Upon entering the outpost the artist found a place to eat and after purchasing a meal he removed his armor and placed it at his side to enjoy the reward of coming back alive.
But he wasn’t safe just yet. Mist began to form around his feet and against all common sense a thunderstorm began to rage inside the building. As rain fell inches away from him the artist quickly finished his meal and put his armor back on. As he began to leave he was stopped by a three-legged panda with no mouth that gave him a small scroll before allowing him to go on his way. The scroll read “Reevaluate your long-term plans for success”
“Long term plans for success?” the artist chuckled to himself. The only plan for success he had at this point was getting back to the safety of his lodge and the company of his brothers and sisters-in arms. But, after a long pause, the artist decided to take the scroll’s advice, and found a corner to hide from the storm in and waited it out. Only when the thunder and lightning and rain had stopped falling from the ceiling did the artist allow himself to leave the outpost and resume his escape.
Walking the last stretch of desert the artist looked in the distance for any sign of his lodging, but could not find any. Looking up, however, he saw the goddess Luna high in the sky, shining down upon him and lighting the way for the rest of his journey. A feeling of relief and satisfaction filled the artist, and he knew that he would be safe from that moment on.
As he returned to his lodgings the artist came upon a small group of his brother’s and sister’s in arms. This particular group had decided that to commemorate their time together they would get matching symbols on their arms. The artist looked at the symbol they had chosen and found the symbol of his faith, last seen corrupted by the evil of the black pyramid once again standing for truth, justice, and friendship. This filled the artist with great joy, and he decided to tell his brother’s and sisters of his quest that night.
As he returned to his lodgings, he looked once more at the pyramid in the distance, its sword of light stabbing the sky, before drawing the shades and retiring to bed. He slept a restless sleep, the evil he had encountered still lingering in the back of his mind. When he awoke the next morning, he opened the shades to see the Goddess Luna, still shining down upon him. She had looked over him the entire night, and kept him safe. As the artist dressed himself, he reflected upon his time with his brothers and sisters-in arms over the past few days and his quest the night before. He had no regrets, but all the same he was looking forward to returning home.
