Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-28358106-20160726175355/@comment-28358106-20160803031359

He says nothing.

They ride for the span of a city, never stopping. The sound of the Crucible behind them, the groan of the earth as it yields to the terrible spire, they keep riding, well beyond the reach of the pit after it stops expanding. Their horses keep going out of sheer terror, their riders the only thing keeping them from careening off into the underbrush.

At last they stop, their horses shivering from exhaustion, the sweat pouring from their bodies. Ibrahim dismounts, staggering a step and putting a hand to his shoulder, he stares at the still-rising spire.

It's the size of a city. Here the eyes are not inhibited by the mind's unfamiliarity with the sight of something so impossible.

"The planar veil is now broken," he says hoarsely. "The Crucible has been made real by the calling of the Echoes across the planes.  Just as the Glyph made my sins real in the form of Victivius, and just as the Glyph is now complete, it now makes the Crucible real as a reflection of the sum of our knowledge.  It's the embodiment of my mind after it was corrupted by the Glyph." He speaks as if reciting his own epitaph.

Hound looks up. The Crucible has fully risen, and has stopped. It floats in the air, above the ground, its bottom shaped like shards of dripoing, frozen blood. The clouds part around it, forming a collar as its very presence pushes them away.

"I should have let Victivius have it, Marcus," Ibrahim says, barely audible, his hand on the broken Arrow still lodged in his shoulder. "I could have spared them this.  This..."