Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-28358106-20160714040922/@comment-28358106-20160722025446

Ibrahim jerks back up into the air, telekinetically holding Hound as he rises with one hand.

"You too, Hound?" He growls. "Am I not allowed to rescue my own children?   MY OWN CHILDREN??"

His hands thrum, red and glowing. "Praetor might have humiliated me once, but I expected more from you.  I trusted you.  I won't make that same mistake again." He reaches out to grasp Hound, then stops, his face an expression of pain.

"Hnng...ugh...what..."

The Glyph twists and shudders. Reality begins to distort around it, as its red bolts arc out, each one a clap of thunder. It grows, enveloping them in a red aura. There is a shrieking, tearing sound, as the gash made by the Glyph begins to grow, a tall vertical wound. It opens, and Ibrahim screams something as it grows around them both...

And it claps shut.

The shockwave knocks everyone off their feet.

Glass rains upon the streets in the capital, and walls shudder, threatening to fall.

The entourage huddles in terror as the trees on the north pass are stripped of their leaves.

Seconds pass. Perhaps hours. Praetor turns over, and looks at the sky...

Light is gone. Illumination is there, hidden by the low clouds, but the light, the golden thread of life from the heavens, is gone. There is no sun. There is nothing.

He turns his head and looks up to where Ibrahim and Marcus were...

There is a circle, stripped of its soil. Ibrahim and Marcus are no longer there. They are gone...but what the Glyph has become is not. Towering, shimmering. Impossible. And then, slowly, it opens. And then, slowly, a foot comes out and steps upon the ground.

The very earth churns, and rots, and blackens with every step. He walks slowly. There is no sound, save his footfalls,  and the wind upon the battlefield.

He looks up, and turns his empty gaze upon Praetor. Praetor's armor feels heavy, he feels himself weaken. He feels terrible despair, a trembling, creeping into his soul, as he remembers words recently written.

...He is the keeper of the old graves, the old Lord of the barrows, the dreadful remnant of the Past Days...

''Victivius. ''

He speaks, his voice an echo reaching out over the pits...

"The heavens betray you, Champion.  They do so because they now serve me."