༺༉⛦ March 3 year 125 of the third age ⛥༉༻
Despite the grand size of the cathedral within which Malachai’s black mass writhed, limbs and strange tendrils undulated listlessly to an incomprehensible rhythm, his sheer volume almost made the room feel small when combined with the monstrous menagerie of strange silhouettes standing in quiet anticipation. Those of unrecognizable race– likely the Haemora– looked upon the creature with reverence and, from some, plain affection. Clearly, the ‘mage’ before them was somebody they, at least, held very dear. For the others, expressions varied– curiosity, fascination, impatience and so on were scattered across even the stonier faces.
Beneath their feet, the ground would shake. The first tremor would pass without begetting much, but the second caused cracks to form beneath the ascending Nihilisk and the third caused those cracks to widen into larger fissures in the floor. Disgustingly, the anomaly’s stygian flesh would begin to bubble and melt in sickening gurgles and pops, slowly starting to ooze into the depths below. At the same time, his mass did not actually appear to be shrinking as he sank– was he expanding ever further?
An impossible chill would start to bite at the exposed flesh of those present, the Ascendant sapping the heat from the room, perhaps drawing energy from it? The upper part of his body, now the consistency of a thick, impossibly dark honey, started to swirl, at points lit from within by an eerie, white light. The contrast in places was blinding, like staring directly into the limning brilliance of an eclipse, yet black as night in others. And then, abruptly, the bright, white light would pulse– blooming color began to bleed into the blackness. Bright life would flourish in a kaleidoscope of reds; flesh, fur, scale and bone of all shapes and sizes started to replace his inky blackness. It would begin to hurt to cast one’s gaze directly upon the appalling tableau as it continued to unfurl.
Those beholding him with a Mystic’s eye would note that the predominant void of Metaphor that’d previously composed him nigh entirely was being flooded with wave after wave of a foreign, malodorous Metaphor, sickly sweet yet undeniably foul– Raya might be able to guess from context that this Metaphor was native to the Haemora and their Plane, and his strange composition was shifting to become a macabre marriage between that and Absentia.
Beneath their feet, the ground would shake. The first tremor would pass without begetting much, but the second caused cracks to form beneath the ascending Nihilisk and the third caused those cracks to widen into larger fissures in the floor. Disgustingly, the anomaly’s stygian flesh would begin to bubble and melt in sickening gurgles and pops, slowly starting to ooze into the depths below. At the same time, his mass did not actually appear to be shrinking as he sank– was he expanding ever further?
An impossible chill would start to bite at the exposed flesh of those present, the Ascendant sapping the heat from the room, perhaps drawing energy from it? The upper part of his body, now the consistency of a thick, impossibly dark honey, started to swirl, at points lit from within by an eerie, white light. The contrast in places was blinding, like staring directly into the limning brilliance of an eclipse, yet black as night in others. And then, abruptly, the bright, white light would pulse– blooming color began to bleed into the blackness. Bright life would flourish in a kaleidoscope of reds; flesh, fur, scale and bone of all shapes and sizes started to replace his inky blackness. It would begin to hurt to cast one’s gaze directly upon the appalling tableau as it continued to unfurl.
Those beholding him with a Mystic’s eye would note that the predominant void of Metaphor that’d previously composed him nigh entirely was being flooded with wave after wave of a foreign, malodorous Metaphor, sickly sweet yet undeniably foul– Raya might be able to guess from context that this Metaphor was native to the Haemora and their Plane, and his strange composition was shifting to become a macabre marriage between that and Absentia.
avert your gaze
As Malachai continues to transform, there will be an increasing risk in beholding him. Because none of the PCs present have the requisite Metaphoric composition to fully resist these changes, it is recommended to, at this point, avert one’s gaze– doing so will fully protect your PC. The results of not doing so may not all be negative, but such a course will cause fundamental changes to your PC you may not want and may not be fully reversible; please proceed with caution.
This will be your ONLY warning, and I will not field complaints if you make the conscious decision not to heed it.
This will be your ONLY warning, and I will not field complaints if you make the conscious decision not to heed it.
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