Success or Death.
Candlelight was a strange commodity in this day and age, favoured only by some mystics who liked the presence of the flame and the flickering shadows it cast. The catacomb was lined with candles, casting a continual firelight through the winding path of smooth stone that ran under the surface. Above, the ceiling arched into a point, supported by a series of pointed brick arches that wound down the path like the ribs of a serpent. There were no colours to break the monotony, save for the nuances of grey in stone and masonry and what illusions the candlelight conjured in the mind of a restless acolyte seeking guidance.
Yet, there was a sensation that drew them in. It was like a sweet scent that pulled at one's nose or a cold hand pushing at one's back. It was a whisper so clear, yet just so distant that one had to perpetually lean in to hear. In the end, after a series of stairs and winding corridors, there were only a pair of rust-red metal doors. Each door was adorned with a rather lifelike image of a humanoid skeleton standing like sentinels with their bony fingers lodged in the crack of the door. They were not closed but stood slightly ajar. Beyond that crack, there was only darkness. Above the door there were words carved into the stone:
Peace is a lie; there is only passion.
Within was a chamber; the walls alight with innumerable candles that threw their invisible plumes of smoke up against an unseen ceiling. The walls were covered in murals, text in the language of the ancient Sith. On the far wall the text amassed into a large black serpent with eyes of crackling lightning and a forked tongue of red fire. There were seemingly no one in the room, but in front of the serpent there lay pillows, recently used, by the look of it. Two cups filled with liquid framed a kettle placed near the pillows. The steam still rose from the hot water, spreading a herbal fragrance into the room.
[member="Vandal Saar"]
Yet, there was a sensation that drew them in. It was like a sweet scent that pulled at one's nose or a cold hand pushing at one's back. It was a whisper so clear, yet just so distant that one had to perpetually lean in to hear. In the end, after a series of stairs and winding corridors, there were only a pair of rust-red metal doors. Each door was adorned with a rather lifelike image of a humanoid skeleton standing like sentinels with their bony fingers lodged in the crack of the door. They were not closed but stood slightly ajar. Beyond that crack, there was only darkness. Above the door there were words carved into the stone:
Peace is a lie; there is only passion.
Within was a chamber; the walls alight with innumerable candles that threw their invisible plumes of smoke up against an unseen ceiling. The walls were covered in murals, text in the language of the ancient Sith. On the far wall the text amassed into a large black serpent with eyes of crackling lightning and a forked tongue of red fire. There were seemingly no one in the room, but in front of the serpent there lay pillows, recently used, by the look of it. Two cups filled with liquid framed a kettle placed near the pillows. The steam still rose from the hot water, spreading a herbal fragrance into the room.
[member="Vandal Saar"]