Jenrak
10-01-2007, 03:22
Perhaps the sun had risen too early, or the darkness fled too fast, but the small inky blackness that was dwelling upon the windows of the tower of the Zarazego gave little hindrance as light pummelled it to death. Shadows surrendered and light occupied its ravaged empire, as the bright gleaming rays danced in joy over their merciless foe. The daylight had risen, the night fallen, the golden sands trickling and sand billowing down in droves onto the soft marble pavement. It was a green grade of jade amongst the pillars of onyx stone, the obsidian stone blades carved up in glory and victory. For the sunshine, the heat came along, as the gears of the first light day gave life to all of the city, a bustle and bustle yet the pinnacle of Zarazego stood still. Amongst this, an emblem of time, a signal of the past, and a symbol to immortality once more, the tall tower erected its massive shadow upon the city, a giant sundial of a structure.
Snakelike figures etched along the way, as beside its silky surface laid the road, broken and scarred, shattered as the concrete was pilfered with its remains. The large vestiges of the sandy dirt were visible, and it led to an ominous gate, chained and closed, locks heavily placed upon it and a sable silver statue standing guard, motionless, and emotionless. Nothing was there, only the soft whispers of the morning wind, howling and groaning and cackling away, before the first burst of sunlight smashed upon the ceiling of the great castle behind its fenced walls.
Standing leery, unused in sunlight, draped brilliantly by a silken banner, the Necromarnen, the Mausoleum of Arcarum, stood quietly. It’s inactive turrets and defences long dead, quietened and silenced, as its once gleaming golden gates abandoned, pockets of moss and vandalism dotting its smooth surface. The creaky gates were closed, shielded by a cage of vines, creeping as their green fingers slithered about in the silence. It was a cold morning, even for the desert Jenrakians, yet it was a quiet morning as well, for the little warmth could not kill the chill that lingered about.
From behind, the small clamour of fingers snapped, as the jackhammer fell upon the lock, and a sledgehammer forced the tiny spindle of the security open.
From the inside, as the covers were burning, giant shadows emblazoning the silken sheets, windows glimmered as magenta and azure rays of sunlight splashed through the stained glass windows, figureheads and folklore abound. From the other ends of the hallways, stone buttresses flew overhead, archways lining as snake-like tunnels and twisting stairways left curtain-less windows flowing with bright light. Carpets of red and velvet were swamped across the long hallways, the pictures of the past owners taken down as giant rooms and sweeping chapel-like ceilings graced the massive castle. From here, servants tended, ran and hustled about, clamouring and talking and chattering as they tried to get orders finished and work prepared, their fingers fumbling and their feet shuffling.
From here, a grandiose of silk and golden drapes were dropped amongst the gargantuan great hall, vast tables abound, red and velvet cloths lining as giant steams of food were being prepared in the back, hundreds of chefs working as the greatest celebration was to be announce. From here, a giant bulk of a man stood, his arms rippling behind throbs of armour, his steel shield on his back like a shell, and his helmet tall and cumbersome and his face hidden beneath the shadowy lurking darkness of his hood. Fur-like entrails from his shoulders bristled with enticement, and his azure armour gave way to a giant blackened sword wrapped around his back.
Amongst the soft fall of the trickling waterfalls to the twisting floors and smooth pillars, the Great Hall was dipped in a golden light and suffocated in a calming aroma, a sagely stench of slight vanilla. From here, he stood, sending out his message through his wrist communicator.
To all nations,
Today is a day of great celebration. The Tsellian Leader Therax is abdicating his power to a newcomer of the Tsellians. Come for the coronation of the Tsellian Empire, hosted by Jenrak in the Necromarnen. You may bring whoever you wish.
Authaulus.
Snakelike figures etched along the way, as beside its silky surface laid the road, broken and scarred, shattered as the concrete was pilfered with its remains. The large vestiges of the sandy dirt were visible, and it led to an ominous gate, chained and closed, locks heavily placed upon it and a sable silver statue standing guard, motionless, and emotionless. Nothing was there, only the soft whispers of the morning wind, howling and groaning and cackling away, before the first burst of sunlight smashed upon the ceiling of the great castle behind its fenced walls.
Standing leery, unused in sunlight, draped brilliantly by a silken banner, the Necromarnen, the Mausoleum of Arcarum, stood quietly. It’s inactive turrets and defences long dead, quietened and silenced, as its once gleaming golden gates abandoned, pockets of moss and vandalism dotting its smooth surface. The creaky gates were closed, shielded by a cage of vines, creeping as their green fingers slithered about in the silence. It was a cold morning, even for the desert Jenrakians, yet it was a quiet morning as well, for the little warmth could not kill the chill that lingered about.
From behind, the small clamour of fingers snapped, as the jackhammer fell upon the lock, and a sledgehammer forced the tiny spindle of the security open.
From the inside, as the covers were burning, giant shadows emblazoning the silken sheets, windows glimmered as magenta and azure rays of sunlight splashed through the stained glass windows, figureheads and folklore abound. From the other ends of the hallways, stone buttresses flew overhead, archways lining as snake-like tunnels and twisting stairways left curtain-less windows flowing with bright light. Carpets of red and velvet were swamped across the long hallways, the pictures of the past owners taken down as giant rooms and sweeping chapel-like ceilings graced the massive castle. From here, servants tended, ran and hustled about, clamouring and talking and chattering as they tried to get orders finished and work prepared, their fingers fumbling and their feet shuffling.
From here, a grandiose of silk and golden drapes were dropped amongst the gargantuan great hall, vast tables abound, red and velvet cloths lining as giant steams of food were being prepared in the back, hundreds of chefs working as the greatest celebration was to be announce. From here, a giant bulk of a man stood, his arms rippling behind throbs of armour, his steel shield on his back like a shell, and his helmet tall and cumbersome and his face hidden beneath the shadowy lurking darkness of his hood. Fur-like entrails from his shoulders bristled with enticement, and his azure armour gave way to a giant blackened sword wrapped around his back.
Amongst the soft fall of the trickling waterfalls to the twisting floors and smooth pillars, the Great Hall was dipped in a golden light and suffocated in a calming aroma, a sagely stench of slight vanilla. From here, he stood, sending out his message through his wrist communicator.
To all nations,
Today is a day of great celebration. The Tsellian Leader Therax is abdicating his power to a newcomer of the Tsellians. Come for the coronation of the Tsellian Empire, hosted by Jenrak in the Necromarnen. You may bring whoever you wish.
Authaulus.