Chosen Path

Birdcalls echoed down from the lush foliage that waved over the forest floor. Sunlight streamed down through the branches, dappling the ground and creating dancing lights and shadows. A lone figure trudged through the greenery, oblivious to the scenery around her. She made no sound as she stalked through the forest, her features hidden by the hood of her robe. Several dagger sheaths were strapped in convenient locations all over her body, and her stealthy tread indicated that this was no ordinary traveler. Pausing to take stock of her surroundings, the elf wondered again at her wisdom in the present undertaking. Not only was she unsure of exactly where she was, her destination was enough to give anyone the willies. Nevertheless, with a shake of the head at her own stubbornness, she pulled the cowl of her robe further over her face and continued onwards.

Presently, the figure noted that the forest was thinning, and what trees were left began taking on bizarre shapes, limbs twisted and blackened. She was getting closer. Cautiously, she proceeded until, finally, she left the last few dead trees behind her and stood in awe in a clearing. Before her loomed the great skull of a long-dead dragon, its empty sockets seemingly following her every move. The open mouth, frozen in a grotesque grin, seemed at once to beckon her to enter and to mock her for being there. Squinting, the elf could make out a staircase descending from the maw into the darkness of the earth. She shuddered at the feeling of dread screaming through her veins, and looked around as though hoping for an excuse to turn back. Finally, sighing, she loosened her favorite dirks from their sheaths, took a deep breath, and slipped into the gaping mouth of the dragon.

The passage was unlighted, and the elf used this to her advantage, taking special care that her footfalls would not echo and fading into the shadows until only the most scrupulous search would have revealed her presence. Ahead of her she could make out a light source at the bottom of the pit. She stopped outside the entrance and crouched down still further into the shadows, peering into the chamber before her. Torchlight flickered over ominous shapes on the walls, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the large, bloody altar that stood in the very center of the room, heaped high with bones of creatures tortured in sacrifice. Ripping her eyes away from the sight, the elf scanned the rest of the chamber. The floor puzzled her momentarily, black but seeming to ripple and move before her eyes. Then a bigger movement caught her eye and she tensed as a robed priest approached the altar.

He turned to the altar and bowed deeply, then, turning, he looked directly at her hiding place and said in a sibilant whisper that seemed to come from everywhere at once 'Welcome to the Temple of the Lord of Death, Vickie.'

Realizing that she was discovered and knowing that there was no way to retreat from her decision at this juncture, Vickie stood, brushed the hood back from her face, and stepped into the final chamber of Zaal's Temple.

Advancing cautiously into the central chamber, her senses alert for a trap and her muscles tense, she cast her gaze surreptiously around her. The shadows danced weirdly in the flickering torchlight and animated the skulls all along the walls and from the altar, making them leer down at the rogue. Vickie shivered. Something brushed her right leg. She jumped and gave a strangled yelp. Looking down to see what had given her such a fright, Vickie had to clench her teeth against a scream. Thousands of snakes slithered on the floor. They covered her boots and tangled themselves around her ankles and seemed to threaten to engulf her whole body in a mass of wriggling bodies. Rigid with horror, she wrenched her eyes away from their hypnotic, writhing forms. Her gaze fell on the sinister priest standing a few feet away. Though she couldn't see his face, she sensed his cruel smile of enjoyment as he watched her predicament. The certainty that he was laughing at her stirred her anger, enough that she took a deep breath and proceeded gingerly into the room, ignoring the snakes still curled around her legs and making sure not to step on any of the reptiles.

Finally she stood before the priest, trembling slightly. By the Gods how she despised snakes...

"Excellent," came the hiss from the undead. "So you wish to continue?" Vickie nodded. "Very well then. Your sacrifice?"

Vickie blinked. "My s...sacrifice?"

"Your blood offering, elf, to the Lord of Death. Surely you did not think to enter His service so cheaply?"

"I...I didn't know I n...needed such a sacrifice," stuttered the rogue. Her shadowy guide hadn't said anything about this! "I...I'll get one of course, right away." She turned, intending to return with some small creature from the woods. Or, whispered a small voice in her head, perhaps not to return at all...

"Hold, elf." A soft command, but no less imperative for that. "Do not be so impudent as to turn your back on His altar. There are other ways of fulfilling the blood requirement. Do you really think you can walk away so easily after choosing this path?"

"I'm not walking away; I'll come back!" squeaked Vickie, ignoring the note of truth in the priest's words.

A harsh laugh. "Seek not to conceal your thoughts here, in the very lair of His Lordship, elf. As I said, there are other ways of meeting the blood requirement."

"How?" Vickie asked reluctantly.

"All that is needed is a living organism. And we have one right here."

"What? I don't see..." Vickie glanced about, then looked back at the priest, who was studying her intently. Realization dawned slowly. "You don't...you can't..." she choked off. She would have stumbled away from the altar, but her body, no longer heeding her commands, moved forward instead. Too late she recognized the prayer the priest muttered under his breath. Despite her struggles, her body lay down on the bloodstained altar, where the priest secured her wrists and ankles as the prayer released her. Panting heavily, her eyes dilated, unable even to scream, Vickie pulled at the restraints, only succeeding in rattling the chains.

Slowly, carefully, the priest opened her robes, exposing the spot over her frantically pounding heart. From his own robes he pulled a ceremonial dagger, the hilt carved painstakingly from bone into a collection of skulls, the blade curved and black, reflecting no light. He held it reverently in both hands, chanting in a measured, unhurried voice. Black candles at the corners of the altar flared into life, casting an eerie red light on the scene. The skulls arranged around the altar and on the walls laughed maniacally at the futilely struggling rogue and promised to welcome her soon to their ghastly ranks. The priest's chanting grew louder, filling the chamber, resonating off the walls, echoing up the empty passage that led to the free world outside. The snakes on the floor grew more excited in their frantic writhing. A chill wind swept through the chamber, whipping around the altar and causing the ever-fickle torches to splutter and flicker. The chanting built to a crescendo as the priest shifted his grip on the dagger, whose black blade glowed a sullen red. Slowly, agonizingly, to Vickie eyes, the blade lifted over her. A sudden paused in the chanting, a dead silence that seemed to scream with the souls of the damned. The down plunged the cruelly glittering dagger, burying its length in Vickie's chest, unswervingly seeking her heart. The spell of silence over her broke, and in the incredible pain and fear of the moment, her shriek joined the mad cackling of the priest as he twisted the blade deeper. She saw his dead, glazed eyes drinking in her pain as the world faded to red, then to a stifling, tortured black.

Vickie woke slowly, pain dulling her senses so that she blinked stupidly at the red burning black candles and wondered sluggishly where she was. A soft rustling drew her eyes to the priest, who was slowly approaching with an ebony goblet. A flash of memory caused her to sit bolt upright, one hand clutching frantically at the spot over her heart, which her robe again covered. She gasped quickly for breath and tried to calm her nerves. Had it been a dream? A gruesome hallucination?

"A dream, elf, aye," said the priest with a mocking chuckle. "A dream as real as death itself." He thrust the goblet into her unresisting hands. "Drink. Drink and seal thy fate."

Compelled by his voice, Vickie raised the goblet and gingerly took a sip. She gasped as the fiery red liquid spread to all parts of her body. It reminded her of a well-earned firebreather after a hard day, but instead of dulling her wits this left her tingling and viciously clear-minded. A whisper of dark power coursed briefly through her veins, a promise of everlasting glory in return for everlasting service.

"Zaalsblood," said the priest, in response to her puzzled glance. "Created with the blood of the faithful, blessed with the presence of the Master Himself."

Vickie blinked, then resolutely put that last bit of information away for future reflection. She noticed a curious tickling above her heart, and, brushing her robe aside, drew in a sharp breath at the mark that graced her chest. Where the knife blade had bitten into her flesh there was now burned the sacred symbol of the Lord of Death, a death-head skull that grinned evilly in the dim light and pulsed with the rhythm that her own heart pulsed to.

Suddenly curious, Vickie studied the undead before her, noticing for the first time that he moved with a certain stiffness, and finally lifted her eyes. Try as she might, she could not distinguish any features beneath the hooded robe. The priest shifted slightly and Vickie realized that he had grown uneasy under her intense scrutiny. She smirked, then caught her breath as another thought hit her. She was no longer afraid of the priest. Oh there was a healthy amount of respectful fear, the knowledge that he could call upon the Dark Lord and make short work of her, but there was also the knowledge that, as a devotee of the Deity herself, she was protected from his chance whims. She doubted that there was much he or anyone else could do that was worse than the pseudo-death she had just experienced. She felt like she'd never be afraid of anything ever again. She met the undead’s gaze again, and he nodded to her solemnly, as though endorsing her conclusions. Vickie felt a liberating burst of confidence, and she lifted the goblet in a half-mocking salute to the priest before downing the rest of the drink in one gulp, shivering with delight as the delicious power washed through her once more. She hopped lightly off the altar, hardly noticing the snakes that wrapped themselves about her legs again. She handed the goblet back to the priest with a bow, then turned and made a much deeper obeisance to the dark altar. Pulling her hood over her head, she started up the passage leading outside.

"Take care, young elf," a soft hiss followed her. "His power is great, as is His vengeance. Stray from the path, and you will feel both."

Vickie hesitated briefly as the warning drifted to her, but her fingers brushed against the pulsing mark on her chest, and a grim smile flitted across her face. Unsheathing her knives, she continued climbing upwards toward the light and the lives that waited...