03-20-2024, 12:41 AM
Tristan's golden eyes, wide and unblinking, fixed on the advancing figure as it emerged from the shadows, its form a grotesque mesh of flesh and darkness. The creature, with its skin hanging loosely from a skull black as obsidian, sought him out with a deliberateness that belied its monstrous appearance. Chains clinked and scraped against the stone floor with each step, the sound echoing ominously through the cavern. Tristan's instincts screamed danger, his body tensing as he assessed the jailor. His jailor.
As the creature approached, its intent clear in the steady, unnerving focus of its gaze, Tristan's mind raced. He had no weapon, no tool with which to defend himself. The cell, his block of crystallized magma and stone, offered nothing but its unyielding solidity. His hands, though capable and strong, seemed pitifully inadequate against the might of a being that seemed born from the very bowels of hell.
The monster — for Tristan could think of no other way to describe it — peered deep into the cell, and in that moment, faint script glowed across the tapestry of its leathery hide. Tristan’s golden eyes were drawn to the glow, and every inch of him stiffened such that he could not draw a single breath. He felt as if his own skin was peeled back and his bones beneath examined before the spell broke and he was released to control of his own body once more. He backed away at the voice which followed, bellowing an accent so heavy, Tristan could barely discern it. In fact, he wasn’t sure it spoke at all except that whatever sounds echoed on the chamber, the reverberations entered his mind in a language he understood.
It wasn’t in English.
“O..o..o..óleyfi.” Tristan heard. “Þú ert dæmdur.”
So preoccupied with the monster condemning him to death, he barely recognized Thalia’s arrival. His golden eyes swung straight to where she huddled in the shadows moments before the monster turned to address her. He all but threw his body at the gate, stretching one arm long through the iron bars as if he might grip the monster’s tattered clothing and halt its approach. But for all his strength, the attempt was futile, and he watched powerless, yet the monster all but dismissed Thalia, and moments later, it wrenched a lever upward.
The gate to his cell began to rise, its long spikes dripping with an unearthly substance, scrolling upward in clunky, metallic thumps. Tristan's heart pounded in his chest, not just with fear but with a burgeoning resolve. If this was to be a battle, he would not meet it as a passive victim.
His eyes darted around, searching desperately for any advantage. The gate itself, he realized, was the only moving part in his otherwise static prison. Its mechanism, powered by some unknown enchantment, offered a potential, albeit slim, opportunity. Tristan stepped back into the shadows of his cell, eyes locked on the creature, waiting for the precise moment to act. He silently begged Thalia to stay back.
As the creature stepped beneath the gate, its grotesque face contorted in anticipation of claiming its prisoner, Tristan moved. He lunged forward, his movements fueled by adrenaline and desperation, and slammed his body against the side of the chains that were still laboring, their movement slow and heavy.
The impact jarred Tristan to his core, pain shooting through his shoulder, but the result was instantaneous. The balance of the gate's ancient mechanism was disrupted. With a grinding screech of protesting metal and stone, the gate shuddered and halted momentarily, before giving way to gravity and crashing down.
The creature, caught unawares by the sudden collapse of the gate it had controlled moments before, had no time to react. The spikes, dripping with their sinister substance, impaled the jailor with a horrific death screech, pinning it to the ground beneath the massive weight of the gate.
Tristan stumbled back, his breath ragged, eyes wide as he took in the scene. The creature lay motionless, its life extinguished in a rush of fluid flooding the floor. For a brief, surreal moment, Tristan stood in stunned silence, his survival instinct giving way to the shock of what he had just accomplished.
His heart still thundering in his chest, Tristan approached the fallen creature. The gate was askew from its tracks, and he was too large to slide beneath the spikes that claimed the monster’s life.
Tenuous, he squat near the monstrous skull, surveying the air for scents of life. Upon finding none, he attempted to lift the gate, every muscle in his body straining at the teeth-grinding attempt, but it would not move.
“Thalia, are you there?” He called out. His arm and shoulder throbbed from having dislodged the gate. “It’s stuck. Do you see anything I can use as a lever? Maybe I can wedge it enough to slip out.”
As the creature approached, its intent clear in the steady, unnerving focus of its gaze, Tristan's mind raced. He had no weapon, no tool with which to defend himself. The cell, his block of crystallized magma and stone, offered nothing but its unyielding solidity. His hands, though capable and strong, seemed pitifully inadequate against the might of a being that seemed born from the very bowels of hell.
The monster — for Tristan could think of no other way to describe it — peered deep into the cell, and in that moment, faint script glowed across the tapestry of its leathery hide. Tristan’s golden eyes were drawn to the glow, and every inch of him stiffened such that he could not draw a single breath. He felt as if his own skin was peeled back and his bones beneath examined before the spell broke and he was released to control of his own body once more. He backed away at the voice which followed, bellowing an accent so heavy, Tristan could barely discern it. In fact, he wasn’t sure it spoke at all except that whatever sounds echoed on the chamber, the reverberations entered his mind in a language he understood.
It wasn’t in English.
“O..o..o..óleyfi.” Tristan heard. “Þú ert dæmdur.”
So preoccupied with the monster condemning him to death, he barely recognized Thalia’s arrival. His golden eyes swung straight to where she huddled in the shadows moments before the monster turned to address her. He all but threw his body at the gate, stretching one arm long through the iron bars as if he might grip the monster’s tattered clothing and halt its approach. But for all his strength, the attempt was futile, and he watched powerless, yet the monster all but dismissed Thalia, and moments later, it wrenched a lever upward.
The gate to his cell began to rise, its long spikes dripping with an unearthly substance, scrolling upward in clunky, metallic thumps. Tristan's heart pounded in his chest, not just with fear but with a burgeoning resolve. If this was to be a battle, he would not meet it as a passive victim.
His eyes darted around, searching desperately for any advantage. The gate itself, he realized, was the only moving part in his otherwise static prison. Its mechanism, powered by some unknown enchantment, offered a potential, albeit slim, opportunity. Tristan stepped back into the shadows of his cell, eyes locked on the creature, waiting for the precise moment to act. He silently begged Thalia to stay back.
As the creature stepped beneath the gate, its grotesque face contorted in anticipation of claiming its prisoner, Tristan moved. He lunged forward, his movements fueled by adrenaline and desperation, and slammed his body against the side of the chains that were still laboring, their movement slow and heavy.
The impact jarred Tristan to his core, pain shooting through his shoulder, but the result was instantaneous. The balance of the gate's ancient mechanism was disrupted. With a grinding screech of protesting metal and stone, the gate shuddered and halted momentarily, before giving way to gravity and crashing down.
The creature, caught unawares by the sudden collapse of the gate it had controlled moments before, had no time to react. The spikes, dripping with their sinister substance, impaled the jailor with a horrific death screech, pinning it to the ground beneath the massive weight of the gate.
Tristan stumbled back, his breath ragged, eyes wide as he took in the scene. The creature lay motionless, its life extinguished in a rush of fluid flooding the floor. For a brief, surreal moment, Tristan stood in stunned silence, his survival instinct giving way to the shock of what he had just accomplished.
His heart still thundering in his chest, Tristan approached the fallen creature. The gate was askew from its tracks, and he was too large to slide beneath the spikes that claimed the monster’s life.
Tenuous, he squat near the monstrous skull, surveying the air for scents of life. Upon finding none, he attempted to lift the gate, every muscle in his body straining at the teeth-grinding attempt, but it would not move.
“Thalia, are you there?” He called out. His arm and shoulder throbbed from having dislodged the gate. “It’s stuck. Do you see anything I can use as a lever? Maybe I can wedge it enough to slip out.”