The Eye of the Dark Crystal
Lightning flash and thunder roar, smoke doth fill the air,
Cold the winds that freeze my soul, as creatures snarl and fear doth laugh.
Wizard in the old dark tower, casts his spell in runes or yore,
A barrier crossed betwixt worlds unknown, curtains opened wide.
Vile creatures now come forth, life when none should be,
What appears - beyond belief, striding halls of men.
Yet I fear what now I see, illusions cloak I don,
Delusion gasps me in its arms, wraps me ‘neath its shroud.
Twisted thoughts - recurring dreams, cause my heart to scream,
Fear and torment spread their roots, crushing heart and soul.
Whispered evils dance around, dismembered voices float,
Captive destined now to be, prisoner of the dead.
Specters whirl around me now; I hear their cackles clear,
Others deem me mad I know, I babble endlessly.
Whispering shadows drawing near, grasping at my soul,
Cold the air surrounding me, biting deep within!
Dark the thoughts that cloud my eyes, screams like fire burst forth,
Terror grips my soul I scream, the banshee doth wail.
The wraiths of hell I see draw near, as darkness slithers in on me,
The demons gnaw my soul they gloat, oh for deaths release.
I drown in pools of blood and gore, I now scream endlessly,
Lost in pages yet unwritten, the end is not in sight.
In chambers deep within the heart of the ancient Citadel of Vasbeeth, a sinister ancient ceremony was being conducted behind locked doors. It had been long since such had been conducted, for it was lost in the passage of time. Lord Starthbeeth now stood within the great pentagram within the Hexagon. He wore his purple robe and stood under the ancient black dragon’s skull, before him lay an assortment of strange objects upon a stone altar. A brazier burned nearby filling the room with clouds of incense, a bloody knife gripped in his left hand and a sacrificed wild mountain cat’s corpse lay upon the floor. To the right loomed a great golden statue of Thoral, further to the left stood statues of Lanek, Serge, Zureeb, Tentica, Lethar and Daemon, to name but a few of the pantheon of dark gods represented. A strange eye shaped globe of clear crystal like substance mounted upon a silver stand stood near to the statue of Thoral.
Lord Starthbeeth chanted strange runes and threw mixed potions into his burning brazier. He dipped a small ladle into the blood sprinkling it upon the scattered objects and uttered other incantations then read from the book that he had brought from the city of DaMned.
“Refeth maybeal karuthel. Naskrew witlam edeth, lathew marrabel tural.”
The eye began to glow and move within its frame, it pulsated and groaned as if now coming alive. Strange dark rings began to move within, giving the semblance of a whirlpool of darkness, and then suddenly it sucked him into its grasp. It was no longer inanimate but alive and throbbing with life. Before he knew it, he had been sucked within and thrown through a hole of whirling darkness until he stood within a room of fire. It was cold fire like ice and the room was filled with ever changing objects. Weird groans and sounds emitted from walls, lingering in the air, his senses were disorientated and he felt unsure. Then there in the midst of the fire appeared Thoral, in the form of a handsome mortal, this was but one of the many forms he would appear in and Starthbeeth was thankful for this more pleasing form rather than the others.
“So, at last you have found the way to come back Starthbeeth, I had almost given up on you and was starting to search for another more worthy. But you have found the way back to my domain and in so doing I will give to thee the prize.”
In the air above him, a great and mighty sword appeared, black as night its handle red like blood. In the blade near to the handle an embedded crystal stone shaped like an eye, a dark emerald pulsating as if alive, similar to the eye he had travelled through.
“This Lord Starthbeeth is Darksoul, I forged it myself, and its power is like unto none. It draws all power unto itself and weakens all who resist. It lives; it devours the life source of the crystal stones of power and thrives upon light and energy. With this sword, you shall fulfil all prophecy and gain eternal life, for it empowers the owner from its life force. One thing must you accomplish though to release its full power; there is one who must die. Darksoul must consume her soul; it must feast upon her. Until her blood is spilt the world shall not be thine to rule. The day she dies her power shall be yours, her soul and power shall be drawn within the sword.”
“Who is she my lord, tell me and she shall die! Where do I find this one?”
“Fool! Am I not the great Thoral! Go to the village of Sarveth in the Westland, there seek out the daughter of Islay and Rufus, bring her here! Do not slay her! For there is something she must do first!”
“A common village girl,” he questioned in disbelief?
“Do not be so foolish that you underestimate me! You need not understand only obey!”
“Great is your wisdom O Mighty One. I will do what thou hast asked.”
“Fail not, I have given much to thee, I have laid all my plans upon thee, fail me and it will be better thou never wast brought froth into life.”
The Lord’s face whitened, he shivered in fear, as Thoral’s eyes narrowed into thin red slits of burning fire devouring it seemed his very soul.
“I will not fail thee O Dark One.”
“Good, good, go then my Lord Starthbeeth and deliver unto me that which I asked.”
He then bowed and walked once more towards the pulsating eye. As he neared, he felt his body sucked into its dark vortex. In a moment of time he stood in the pentagram once more, though now in his hand was Darksoul.