Post by The Final Rune on Mar 8, 2007 0:08:24 GMT -5
[white]Frozen daggers scrapped against my cheeks threatening to rend my flesh into strips of pulp, destined to be iced away forever in the snowy drifts surrounding my legs. The blizzard is gaining on me. Still, I have no intention of leaving my popsicle stiff corpse alone in the snow as payment for my trespassing transgression. Refastening the strings of the fluffy snow-hare hood clenched about my head, I push forward, into the darkness, into the endless white.
I hit something hard and suddenly the wind is no longer blasting across my face. Its’ surface is cold, everything is cold, but this is different. The chill from the wall before me strikes a warmth into my fingers. A sensation pushed through the four layers of gloves and mittens encasing my hands that remind me of my dark warm basement back at home. I glance to the left, following the shadowed frame of the wall. I can see it, barely, an enormous backwards curving structure that extends into the empty whiteness, out of visibility. I look right, only to see the same infinite curve. I figure one direction is as good as another and walk forward, my left hand tracing the path of the wall.
I walk forever. Time resounds in the innards of my skull. A pulsing tick and tock, thundering around in my head. The flow of time being magnified by the cold heat of the wall against my left hand.
My hand falls from the wall, finding empty space. Have I lost my path? I reach out like blind man in a foreign room. I step forward, expecting the wall, but I find only more emptiness. The storm has quieted, only a faint whisper at my back. No, it still rages I think. I step forward again. Only blank openness. Rummaging through my knapsack I produce my flint and lantern. Spark, spark and finally light.
I hadn't lost the wall, the wall had lost me. A chasm, a fold in the near perfect protection. Nearly three meters wide, as endlessly high as the exterior walls and deeper than the light will show. Have I made it? Is this it? I quiet my hopes and take my first step into the dark abyss.
Deeper into the crevasse I push myself. The clockwork sounds pouring through the walls have risen to a deafening roar. Every massive explosion of tick is quickly followed by a cascade of tock. A grinding rhythm of gears and metal contraptions moving steadily beyond the walls sent my mind wandering in chaos. I have traveled so far, too far, to let anything stop me now. Still the incessant ticks continue to grind down my resistance.
Finally after what must have been two hundred meters I reach something new; an enormous door towering before me. Easily a dozen meters high, the entry device was a mammoth of design. As I move closer to examine it, I notice it shimmers in the candle light like finely polished brass. Intricate engravings adorn the surface, covering every visible part of the door. Ancient runes and glyphic script encircled the only extrusion on its surface. A single knob, bigger than two of my heads, is set in the dead center of the door. I again returned to my pack to produce a length of rope. After several failed attempts I manage to loop the rope around the knob and begin the climb towards it.
Reaching the handle I tied myself off to hold my height just below the oversized door knob. I pulled out my spectacles and took a closer examination of the writings about the protrusion. The script is familiar to me. It is a variation of the tongue used by the barbarians from across the frozen sea. Surely such a benign race of warmongers could not be responsible for this marvel of engineering? I put away my glasses and feel across the surface of the knob. It’s incredibly smooth. A single mar on its skin of brass about two-thirds of the way around give me the information I am seeking; I only hope I weigh enough.
I fasten a steel peg from the tools in my pack into the hole of the handle and tie the other end of the rope to it. Slinging the length over the curvature of the knob I release my knot and swing the full brunt of my weight against the steel peg. Slowly I drift towards the floor as the knob turns on its axis. Suddenly I fall to floor some three meters still below me. The peg immediately follows me down striking me in the head. The knob began a slow turn back to its original position. It is obvious that I have miscalculated.
Practice makes perfect and on my second try I make take the foresight to triple wrap the rope before beginning my decent. Now, I make it down to the floor in one piece. Still the door will not move. The rope is tight against my hands. I jump up and pull down on the remaining length. The knob completes a full cycle around its shaft a soft click emanates from the door.
Quickly I stand back waiting for the next motion. A hidden seam appears as a curvy zigzag along the length of the door spewing a brilliant light into the dim chasm. I am engulfed in a mountain of glow as I hear the doors slide open and thunder on their hinges. I am blind by the light but filled with warmth of anticipation that eludes description.
My arm covers my face, desperately attempting to block out the complete whiteness of the light. My left foot moves out first, taking me into the light. I cross the threshold of the door and hear it softly slide shut behind me as I pass. Then, the light begins to fade its massive intensity. Down, down, down; it softens until I can see clearly.
“Amazing!” I gasp at the vision before me. The gigantic hall in front of me shines with a luminous brilliance. The walls are a cool blue stone infused with countless flicks of gold. The sparkles of metal flash in an almost hypnotic fashion. Reaching out my hand I touch the walls to find them smooth and flawless. Turning do gaze down the hall of indigo I spot three more doors, much smaller than their entryway counterpart, laid out in equal distance from each other in a half circle inclusion at the end of the passageway. I take a step forward and my foot fall echoes a metallic ring. The floor is made of the same shining brass of the entry way door. I continue forward shifting my eyes to the ceiling, a curved dome column of the same mystic stone that covers the walls, which is lined with ornate chandeliers adorned in candles of immeasurable quantity.
As I come to the opposite length of the hall I stand before the doors three. Each appears as the other. Besides placement I can notice no diversity between them. They match the entry door almost exactly in design, only much, much, smaller. Maybe slightly greater than two meters in height the port ways are very obviously crafted for creatures of human height.
I decide that one is as good as another and place my hand around the knob on the center door. I turn the handle slowly until a click resounds from the door. Tightening my grasp I pull towards myself; and nothing happens. It won’t budge. I try pushing only to experience the same result. I feel discouraged. Moving to the door on my left I repeat my exercise and find similar response. This does not bode well. Desperate I rush for the final door at my far right.
With my back against the wall and my head hung low into my hands I sob. So far I have traveled. So much I have overcome. Now at the conclusion of my journey I am displaced. I have checked and rechecked the inscriptions on the doors. I have attempted ever means at my disposal to pry the doors open; even asking, to no avail. I am lost.
The smooth auburn taste of the ale stimulated my tongue as I finished off my second mug of the night. “Another!” I call out to the man behind the bar. I sit alone at my table. The other patrons seem to be avoiding me. Maybe the look of my south plains attire makes me too different for this highland tavern. It’s been a long journey and a hard road making it this far. A waitress comes by and sets another draft of ale before me along with a hot plate of meat and a loaf of stale bread. She doesn’t ask for any coin, she knows she doesn’t have to. I’ve been frequenting the Fallen Trees Tavern for the past three months. The owner knows by now that I’m good for my tab.
I sip on my drink and chew on the crusty bread seeping with sweet juices from the meat. It’s a dish I have become quite fond of these passing weeks. The cook won’t tell just how he gets the meat to sweeten the way it does, but he assures me it has nothing to do with sugar. Nothing has sugar in it now-a-days, not since the kraken started tearing up every vessel that sailed from the isles where is grows. I imagine a place so far from the south plain harbors would scarcely see sugar anyway.
A man in the far corner has been the subject of my attention for the past hour. My constant visits here have all been in search of this man. Tonight is the first time I have actually witnessed him here. He looks like most anyone else you see. Not too old, not too young; tall, but not exceedingly so. He is about as average as average can be really. There is a rumor though, the story that brought me so far from my home, that he has outlived everyone in his family, everyone, including his own children, grandchildren and their grandchildren beyond. No one knows if it’s true or not, but every year he shows up to visit graves of people he shouldn’t know.
He pays well and the bar girls fawn over him eager for a taste of his wealth. Already onto his fifth mug of ale I continue to watch and wait for him to leave. The platter of cooked flesh has gotten cool from my inattention, but I eat it anyway. After I finish my meal and sip down my sixth serving of ale I finally see the man stir from his chair. He pushes the femme flies from his path. I expect him to head outside, but instead he moves toward the back of the tavern, towards the latrine. There must still be more drinking left for him to do. Settling back into my chair I close my eyes and let my mind wander.
The floor is cold against my cheek. I must have fallen asleep. Returned from my dream I find myself again in the cavern of majestic blue and gold. I stand, slowly, and begin to stretch myself out. My arms held high towards the ceiling I look over my shoulder at the doors three. I nearly choke from surprise as I gaze at the place where the doors are supposed to be. Now, instead of three port ways, only one stands, and it stands fully open! Beyond the frame of the door my eyes cannot make clear just what is there. Everything appears as blackness. Empty pure night permeates the path without a single hint of form. I scoop my pack onto my shoulder and step to the opening to investigate. Bracing my hand along the frame I peak my head inside to look around. Just as I lean forward to scan the nothingness I am propelled through the entry into the blackness and the door slams shut behind me, leaving me completely blind in this foreign void.
Panic begins to set in quickly. I flail my arms about me, searching for something solid. Relax, stay calm, relax, stay calm, relax and stay calm; the words reverberate inside my skull. The door should be just behind me. I creep back until the wall hit my shoulders. My breathing is erratic and my heart is screaming within my chest.
After many, many, controlled breaths I take hold of myself and begin to regain my senses. Slowly I slide down to the floor, my back pressed tightly against the wall.[/white]
I hit something hard and suddenly the wind is no longer blasting across my face. Its’ surface is cold, everything is cold, but this is different. The chill from the wall before me strikes a warmth into my fingers. A sensation pushed through the four layers of gloves and mittens encasing my hands that remind me of my dark warm basement back at home. I glance to the left, following the shadowed frame of the wall. I can see it, barely, an enormous backwards curving structure that extends into the empty whiteness, out of visibility. I look right, only to see the same infinite curve. I figure one direction is as good as another and walk forward, my left hand tracing the path of the wall.
I walk forever. Time resounds in the innards of my skull. A pulsing tick and tock, thundering around in my head. The flow of time being magnified by the cold heat of the wall against my left hand.
My hand falls from the wall, finding empty space. Have I lost my path? I reach out like blind man in a foreign room. I step forward, expecting the wall, but I find only more emptiness. The storm has quieted, only a faint whisper at my back. No, it still rages I think. I step forward again. Only blank openness. Rummaging through my knapsack I produce my flint and lantern. Spark, spark and finally light.
I hadn't lost the wall, the wall had lost me. A chasm, a fold in the near perfect protection. Nearly three meters wide, as endlessly high as the exterior walls and deeper than the light will show. Have I made it? Is this it? I quiet my hopes and take my first step into the dark abyss.
Deeper into the crevasse I push myself. The clockwork sounds pouring through the walls have risen to a deafening roar. Every massive explosion of tick is quickly followed by a cascade of tock. A grinding rhythm of gears and metal contraptions moving steadily beyond the walls sent my mind wandering in chaos. I have traveled so far, too far, to let anything stop me now. Still the incessant ticks continue to grind down my resistance.
Finally after what must have been two hundred meters I reach something new; an enormous door towering before me. Easily a dozen meters high, the entry device was a mammoth of design. As I move closer to examine it, I notice it shimmers in the candle light like finely polished brass. Intricate engravings adorn the surface, covering every visible part of the door. Ancient runes and glyphic script encircled the only extrusion on its surface. A single knob, bigger than two of my heads, is set in the dead center of the door. I again returned to my pack to produce a length of rope. After several failed attempts I manage to loop the rope around the knob and begin the climb towards it.
Reaching the handle I tied myself off to hold my height just below the oversized door knob. I pulled out my spectacles and took a closer examination of the writings about the protrusion. The script is familiar to me. It is a variation of the tongue used by the barbarians from across the frozen sea. Surely such a benign race of warmongers could not be responsible for this marvel of engineering? I put away my glasses and feel across the surface of the knob. It’s incredibly smooth. A single mar on its skin of brass about two-thirds of the way around give me the information I am seeking; I only hope I weigh enough.
I fasten a steel peg from the tools in my pack into the hole of the handle and tie the other end of the rope to it. Slinging the length over the curvature of the knob I release my knot and swing the full brunt of my weight against the steel peg. Slowly I drift towards the floor as the knob turns on its axis. Suddenly I fall to floor some three meters still below me. The peg immediately follows me down striking me in the head. The knob began a slow turn back to its original position. It is obvious that I have miscalculated.
Practice makes perfect and on my second try I make take the foresight to triple wrap the rope before beginning my decent. Now, I make it down to the floor in one piece. Still the door will not move. The rope is tight against my hands. I jump up and pull down on the remaining length. The knob completes a full cycle around its shaft a soft click emanates from the door.
Quickly I stand back waiting for the next motion. A hidden seam appears as a curvy zigzag along the length of the door spewing a brilliant light into the dim chasm. I am engulfed in a mountain of glow as I hear the doors slide open and thunder on their hinges. I am blind by the light but filled with warmth of anticipation that eludes description.
My arm covers my face, desperately attempting to block out the complete whiteness of the light. My left foot moves out first, taking me into the light. I cross the threshold of the door and hear it softly slide shut behind me as I pass. Then, the light begins to fade its massive intensity. Down, down, down; it softens until I can see clearly.
“Amazing!” I gasp at the vision before me. The gigantic hall in front of me shines with a luminous brilliance. The walls are a cool blue stone infused with countless flicks of gold. The sparkles of metal flash in an almost hypnotic fashion. Reaching out my hand I touch the walls to find them smooth and flawless. Turning do gaze down the hall of indigo I spot three more doors, much smaller than their entryway counterpart, laid out in equal distance from each other in a half circle inclusion at the end of the passageway. I take a step forward and my foot fall echoes a metallic ring. The floor is made of the same shining brass of the entry way door. I continue forward shifting my eyes to the ceiling, a curved dome column of the same mystic stone that covers the walls, which is lined with ornate chandeliers adorned in candles of immeasurable quantity.
As I come to the opposite length of the hall I stand before the doors three. Each appears as the other. Besides placement I can notice no diversity between them. They match the entry door almost exactly in design, only much, much, smaller. Maybe slightly greater than two meters in height the port ways are very obviously crafted for creatures of human height.
I decide that one is as good as another and place my hand around the knob on the center door. I turn the handle slowly until a click resounds from the door. Tightening my grasp I pull towards myself; and nothing happens. It won’t budge. I try pushing only to experience the same result. I feel discouraged. Moving to the door on my left I repeat my exercise and find similar response. This does not bode well. Desperate I rush for the final door at my far right.
With my back against the wall and my head hung low into my hands I sob. So far I have traveled. So much I have overcome. Now at the conclusion of my journey I am displaced. I have checked and rechecked the inscriptions on the doors. I have attempted ever means at my disposal to pry the doors open; even asking, to no avail. I am lost.
* * *
The smooth auburn taste of the ale stimulated my tongue as I finished off my second mug of the night. “Another!” I call out to the man behind the bar. I sit alone at my table. The other patrons seem to be avoiding me. Maybe the look of my south plains attire makes me too different for this highland tavern. It’s been a long journey and a hard road making it this far. A waitress comes by and sets another draft of ale before me along with a hot plate of meat and a loaf of stale bread. She doesn’t ask for any coin, she knows she doesn’t have to. I’ve been frequenting the Fallen Trees Tavern for the past three months. The owner knows by now that I’m good for my tab.
I sip on my drink and chew on the crusty bread seeping with sweet juices from the meat. It’s a dish I have become quite fond of these passing weeks. The cook won’t tell just how he gets the meat to sweeten the way it does, but he assures me it has nothing to do with sugar. Nothing has sugar in it now-a-days, not since the kraken started tearing up every vessel that sailed from the isles where is grows. I imagine a place so far from the south plain harbors would scarcely see sugar anyway.
A man in the far corner has been the subject of my attention for the past hour. My constant visits here have all been in search of this man. Tonight is the first time I have actually witnessed him here. He looks like most anyone else you see. Not too old, not too young; tall, but not exceedingly so. He is about as average as average can be really. There is a rumor though, the story that brought me so far from my home, that he has outlived everyone in his family, everyone, including his own children, grandchildren and their grandchildren beyond. No one knows if it’s true or not, but every year he shows up to visit graves of people he shouldn’t know.
He pays well and the bar girls fawn over him eager for a taste of his wealth. Already onto his fifth mug of ale I continue to watch and wait for him to leave. The platter of cooked flesh has gotten cool from my inattention, but I eat it anyway. After I finish my meal and sip down my sixth serving of ale I finally see the man stir from his chair. He pushes the femme flies from his path. I expect him to head outside, but instead he moves toward the back of the tavern, towards the latrine. There must still be more drinking left for him to do. Settling back into my chair I close my eyes and let my mind wander.
The floor is cold against my cheek. I must have fallen asleep. Returned from my dream I find myself again in the cavern of majestic blue and gold. I stand, slowly, and begin to stretch myself out. My arms held high towards the ceiling I look over my shoulder at the doors three. I nearly choke from surprise as I gaze at the place where the doors are supposed to be. Now, instead of three port ways, only one stands, and it stands fully open! Beyond the frame of the door my eyes cannot make clear just what is there. Everything appears as blackness. Empty pure night permeates the path without a single hint of form. I scoop my pack onto my shoulder and step to the opening to investigate. Bracing my hand along the frame I peak my head inside to look around. Just as I lean forward to scan the nothingness I am propelled through the entry into the blackness and the door slams shut behind me, leaving me completely blind in this foreign void.
Panic begins to set in quickly. I flail my arms about me, searching for something solid. Relax, stay calm, relax, stay calm, relax and stay calm; the words reverberate inside my skull. The door should be just behind me. I creep back until the wall hit my shoulders. My breathing is erratic and my heart is screaming within my chest.
After many, many, controlled breaths I take hold of myself and begin to regain my senses. Slowly I slide down to the floor, my back pressed tightly against the wall.[/white]