Achaea Death Sequence
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As seen by Anonymous. Posted under Achaea as a Roleplay log.No author comment.
Submitted 23 Oct 2016. 4421 views in total, 1.62 per day.Gripped by the cold embrace of death, you succumb to the darkness...
The world falls into darkness, evoking the unmistakable redolence of decay; each breath draws the foul blight toward your soul, threatening to wither and desolate.
Shivering with trepidation, you blindly tread the darkness with prudence. Your senses heighten with each slow, deliberate step until the stygian gloam becomes but a gloomy haze, revealing your immediate surroundings: a labyrinth unwinds before you, unfathomable in size.
You steadily navigate the murk, turning countless corners and walking endless corridors until your will wanes. Grim reality and capricious shade entwine as you stagger onward, the world blurring into a nightmare of the unknown.
Desperation reigns as you round yet another bend and your heart begins to race, each frantic beat rousing a cold sweat that drenches your frail body. Breaking into a run, you tear through the shadows in hopes of reprieve but for naught; the gloom recedes to the ghastly, red glow of two piercing eyes that bore into your own from the distance.
A low, scornful chuckle precedes the affirmation of their source, as a wraith-like figure steps forth: Ugrach, Lord of the Undead.
"Did you really think you could escape death?"
In a single motion the dreadful Lord materialises before you, his cruel gaze coupled with a wicked grin. "If the Endbringer could not, then what hope have you?"
Ugrach takes you by the arm, his grip unforgiving. The world blurs, dark and light swirling into obscure visions that shift with unnerving animation. Each attempt to focus brings the imagery closer to corporeality, until realisation strikes: the pivotal moments of your life flash before you, from conception to your last, trembling breath.
"Funny, isn't it? How fleeting life is..." He muses. "Do you think you have truly lived? Or have you merely existed?"
Ugrach wrenches upon your arm without waiting for a response, and the visions cease; the world stills, and you find yourself before a throne of grisly, yellowed bone. Immediately, Ugrach abandons your side and takes his rightful place as the Curator of Death.
"Kneel."
Overwhelmed by an incongruous compulsion, you fall on bended knee. He motions with a single claw and smirks as you slump upon all fours, in thrall of his dominion; the gravity of your deeds in life weigh heavily upon your soul, each passing moment a cruel strain upon your frail, mortal body.
You stare at the cold, dank stone, faced only with your muddied reflection as the grating laugh of the Lord of Undead thunders in your ears. "Just as pathetic as the rest..."
Roused by his words, you slowly raise your head to meet the Curator's gaze. The crowing ceases, replaced by an eerie silence as pique supersedes his prior derision.
"If you are not done with life," Ugrach sneers, "then I am done with you."
Unbearable pain crushes your soul, and you collapse; darkness reigns as you swim in and out of consciousness for untold time, until you finally return to the waking world. Only a dim beacon of light grants promise, and you cautiously raise yourself from the floor and clumsily lurch ahead, toward reprieve and the promise of life.
The world falls into darkness, evoking the unmistakable redolence of decay; each breath draws the foul blight toward your soul, threatening to wither and desolate.
Shivering with trepidation, you blindly tread the darkness with prudence. Your senses heighten with each slow, deliberate step until the stygian gloam becomes but a gloomy haze, revealing your immediate surroundings: a labyrinth unwinds before you, unfathomable in size.
You steadily navigate the murk, turning countless corners and walking endless corridors until your will wanes. Grim reality and capricious shade entwine as you stagger onward, the world blurring into a nightmare of the unknown.
Desperation reigns as you round yet another bend and your heart begins to race, each frantic beat rousing a cold sweat that drenches your frail body. Breaking into a run, you tear through the shadows in hopes of reprieve but for naught; the gloom recedes to the ghastly, red glow of two piercing eyes that bore into your own from the distance.
A low, scornful chuckle precedes the affirmation of their source, as a wraith-like figure steps forth: Ugrach, Lord of the Undead.
"Did you really think you could escape death?"
In a single motion the dreadful Lord materialises before you, his cruel gaze coupled with a wicked grin. "If the Endbringer could not, then what hope have you?"
Ugrach takes you by the arm, his grip unforgiving. The world blurs, dark and light swirling into obscure visions that shift with unnerving animation. Each attempt to focus brings the imagery closer to corporeality, until realisation strikes: the pivotal moments of your life flash before you, from conception to your last, trembling breath.
"Funny, isn't it? How fleeting life is..." He muses. "Do you think you have truly lived? Or have you merely existed?"
Ugrach wrenches upon your arm without waiting for a response, and the visions cease; the world stills, and you find yourself before a throne of grisly, yellowed bone. Immediately, Ugrach abandons your side and takes his rightful place as the Curator of Death.
"Kneel."
Overwhelmed by an incongruous compulsion, you fall on bended knee. He motions with a single claw and smirks as you slump upon all fours, in thrall of his dominion; the gravity of your deeds in life weigh heavily upon your soul, each passing moment a cruel strain upon your frail, mortal body.
You stare at the cold, dank stone, faced only with your muddied reflection as the grating laugh of the Lord of Undead thunders in your ears. "Just as pathetic as the rest..."
Roused by his words, you slowly raise your head to meet the Curator's gaze. The crowing ceases, replaced by an eerie silence as pique supersedes his prior derision.
"If you are not done with life," Ugrach sneers, "then I am done with you."
Unbearable pain crushes your soul, and you collapse; darkness reigns as you swim in and out of consciousness for untold time, until you finally return to the waking world. Only a dim beacon of light grants promise, and you cautiously raise yourself from the floor and clumsily lurch ahead, toward reprieve and the promise of life.