[IP] A Sacrifice to the Abyss

...

From the ashen dusts of mortal flames, and through the frozen wastes that lie between... Let us press our wills upon the relics of old, the likes of which have only ends, but not beginnings.

Voices filled the room, one beautiful harmony of woven spells on air as the mages of the tower sang. From their tones, threads of magic let themselves flow passing through flesh, to staff, to orb before finally emerging into the air itself, those drifting colors set to swirled like paint on the ether of reality.

First was white, settling in a peaceful glow of good and trusting light. That soon flushed green, primal and pulsing with the essence of nature and life, then brown, as the red of mortal blood joined those before it. Then came the minor portions, of blue and yellow, and further still: Of strange and uncommon colors that represented magics difficult to explain, and far greater to create.

Like paint upon the air itself, they swirled into being and form, mixing as all colors will short of light itself. Combining towards the inevitable shades of black and gray. Of condensed and refined powers, no longer interested in the sole desires of one life commanding, but instead seeking greater purpose. The will of the dark lord had lead them to this place, and it was in this moment, a place of dark shadows and terror manifesting, for which the Mages' very lives had been bred.

Between them, the ancient spheres of chaos seemed to float suspended, trapped within the seals and runic carvings laid by their master's hands. Those strange metallic pieces brought unease to any eyes that laid upon them, for no mortal could witness the shifting beneath their surface for long. Not with the creeping dread and the whispers that followed: The voices of things from between the planes and worlds of reality, tales from those who went about their existing beyond.

Soon, those spheres began to hum with the magic that filled them, their greed only willing to drink in more: Always more.

"Begin." The command issues from beyond the room itself, standing past the farthest circle of protection in heavy black armor, sword of charcoal and rust held cruel against the floor beneath clasped and iron hands.

Without further prompting, the songs and chants that they had long since practiced began to flutter from their throats, and the magics they brought forth began to soar out into the dense gray as the spheres drank deeply.

The Eastern Tower did not burst to flame, nor explosion, nor resonance which shattered stone and glass to shards and shreds. Instead, as Gillian watched, the very structure seemed to fade away as if sinking into a fog of soot and haze.

Indeed, before his eyes it was there that the Keep's Eastern portion had slipped beyond this world's grasp, flickering like a mountain's peak through clouds of moonlight. As the hymn of chanting summons carried on the wind, so did a far more sinister chorus: Voices from beyond the realm of mortals and men.

Voices beyond the touch of gods and reason.

Raising his staff, Gillian let the staircase form beneath him as his pace walked expectantly, feet finding stone where nothing but air had stood before. The closer he approached, the more he could see, the greater truth he could draw. His interest was peaked, for the spells were working, but something... Something was not yet right.

A click of his tongue, as the constrained bursts of magic thought, streaked from the staff of white oak. The six plates of clear wards settled through matter and air alike, boxing the strange flowing hue within as the chants only increased in volume. He had trained these last mages far more than their predecessors, and they had not yet failed to impress him. The spells woven together were as complicated as they were delicate, fragile until sealed- like thin and frozen glass pieces waiting for the solder.

Gillian raised his staff again, letting the wind flow around him as he applied the magical equivalent. Precautions upon precautions: One did not find themselves immortal overnight.

A scream sounded within the mist, shortly followed a bellow of rage and a clash of sparks. Though his eyes could no longer see the truth of what lay withing the haze, Gillian could hear Rodrick's voice was clearly engaging in some form of combat. A seal had been broken then, and so soon... A troubling development, but the Black Knight could handle most threats still contained in the foundation's prep-work.

Another scream, followed by a shout before the haze erupted. Gillian watched as Rodrick's armored form burst from the cloud of shadows, smashing along the walls of the keep several times before a heavy clatter that signified his arrival upon the ground hundreds of paces below.

Could the man die without Gillian's direct approval, that might have been enough to do it.

A third scream soon twisted into the fourth through fifth and further: And a gale of crimson rain burst from the fog. Gillian let the wards catch what strangeness imbued the substrate as it covered him, shower unrelenting as the screams within continued. Concentrating his focus, his staff pushed further defenses into place.

Perhaps his plan had failed. He would most certainly need to train new mages, regardless of the day's results.

As he focused his powers yet again, Gillian idly considered the perspective in which the hue of gray and darkness seemed to be growing. More than just considered, he seemed hard-pressed to write it off as just a simple illusion, for it certainly was stretching much farther than it had been prior. A quiet attempt to sweep away the magical fail-safes he'd laid into the buildings foundation met with failure, and another click of his tongue.

Glancing down at the spread of whatever filth was creeping over his Eastern tower, Gillian realized that his white oaken staff was now far more red than white, as were his clothes for such matters and concern. He'd appreciated both, having held them close for decades now, but blood never did quite come out as he wanted it- even after thousands of years to experiment on methods to prove otherwise.

With a hiss of displeasure, Gillian summoned the winds, imbuing them with power to dispel, and set loose a heavy curve of air, letting it build to a force of reckoning as he slammed it casually into the dark mist that waited before him. Such a set back, it might be decades until he could attempt to join the worlds again, and it was so close too. Just a few more moments of stability, and this method would surely have yielded the results he'd been seeking.

The fog pressed back under his assault, but there were portions of it that resisted. First with mild establishment, like a stain in the air- but soon in more ethereal form, coalescing like stone. Gillian haulted the winds, curiosity pressed as the air settled and his eyes could take in the sight of what waited there.

"Hmm..." Letting his formal posture drop, he considered the large and otherworldly maw that waited- open and hungry to consume all and every, glow of red-madness sparking off the blood of giant fangs, undoubtedly extracted from a dozen or so unlucky Mages just recently. Hundreds of feet below he heard the sounds of scraping armor, as the Black Knight stumbled back to his feet- heavy sword readying itself for almost certainly a fruitless example of combat.

The gaping jaw in the shadows opened wider, more and more fangs splitting along a horizontal crevice of total darkness. A minor eldritch being from between planes seemed to have arrived on his doorstep; the likes of which which most certainly possessed the spheres of chaos somewhere within its gullet or further. Gillian stroked his chin once, as a deep rumble of unfamiliar magics spewed in a thick cloud of growing shadows and gray mist. He'd have to retrieve the ancient relics somehow, but the enigma on "how" to go about that was quite an engaging enterprise.

A deep laugh began to emanate from the strange floating jaw of darkness, mocking tones of madness rolling out in a terrible chorus. Gillian clicked his tongue once more, letting his staff rest upon the floating stone beneath his feet as he considered the ungodly manifestation.

"Well... This is interesting."