Saturday, 31 January 2015

At the summit of the Doom-Spire

No light pierced the infinite darkness of the Doomspire as that lonely tower sailed across the aetheric waves of eternity. 

Deep in the gloom of uncountable horrors stirred hidden servants of the black prince; half-crawling, half-limping upon misshapen limbs they carried their ill-gotten prize through the archaic mazes of crumbling stone and cyclopean edifices towards their master. As they ascended the forbidden stair dull globes of witch-light illuminated their passage. The grey light, pale as a winters morning, caused the creatures to recoil, clawed hands were swiftly raised to yellowing eyes unused to all but the subtle glow of drauglin magic. Alas they carried on, each clack of their hooves upon the iron steps echoing into the infinite abyss around them, a sonorous and repetitive sound unhindered by nought else; for that which slept in the blackness cared not to wake and remained silent.

For forgotten eons they marched, never speaking nor turning back. Higher and higher they went with no sustenance or sound, only occasionally interrupted when one of their number fell from the stair; tumbling with a whisper into oblivion. Their trek of ages would be recorded by no man for there were no men, nay there was no such concept of time itself for the Doomspire floats on the currents of a dimension long forgotten by the scholars of Raxas Prime and never sensed by such primitive apes as those who inhabit that lonely rock Earth. Their journey took them to the highest point of that reality, a godforsaken place of twisted ruin and black fire where the powers of the old void conducted their unknowable affairs. 

To the chief of these beings did the creatures present themselves, cowering and mewling before his power. The masked figure of the Hand of Fate, the King of Destinies known to mortals as the Doombringer, did observe these most wretched of monsters who dared to come before him. Regarding them with eyes older than the universe he did take from them their prize; a small thing, nought but an image and a strand of text. He observed this tribute and with a knowing smile did free his servants from their pathetic existence as he began to fill the outer heavens with the sounds of his laughter.

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