The dark pink and purple neck of the demon in front of them is long and thick. It needs to be, or at least they think that, because how could it support three heads anyway?
The head at the bottom is coloured with a mixture of dark purple and grey tones. The sockets are empty and his mouth is toothless. The wrinkly skin makes the face look very old. If a human looked like this, they would assume him to be at least one hundred years old.
The head in the middle is dark red with burning yellow eyes. He seems to be untouched by the blinding curse, as his eyes don’t glow with orange light and he seems to be looking at them. Around his mouth are little holes, about two dozen of them, and from a few hang thin pieces of cut string. His jawline is strong and three small horns sprout from his forehead.
The upper head almost looks like a skull cut out of stone. The harsh skin is chipped. Two horns, formed like short curved blades, are on the side of his head and
Shortly after the middle head inhales, the upper one exhales, pushing the air through the narrow slits and cracks of his deformed mouth.
“Welcome to the altar of Achalion.”
They hear three voices coming from the priest. They can see the middle head actually speak, the movement of his lips in sync with the words he speaks. The mouth of the lowest head barely moves, making him mostly intelligible due to the vague wailing sounds he makes. The process of elimination leads them to believe the sharp whispering voice, still echoing somewhere in the back of their heads, comes from the upper head.
“Are you father Karrion?” Bruq speaks hesitantly and he doesn’t know for sure which head to look at. “We have come to Saal to help you lift the curse. We were told to speak to you.”
The demon keeps walking towards them. His heads nod in the same rhythm.
“Yes.” He answers without any visible emotion on his faces. “We are the ones you seek. Our Father told us the scales of balance would be tipped and now we meet his foretold instruments. Welcome to his altar.”
They move out of his way, the priest’s faces fixated on the magnificent statue. He raises his arms and the oversized white sleeves roll back, revealing his gaunt arms. His lower arms are the same kind of red as his middle face, while his hands look like as stoney as the upper one.
“We would ask if you want to pray to our Father, but we see you talked to his uncle only recently. We welcome you as our family as your Father is family to my Father.”
At least his words are kind, even if the eerie sounds accompanying his words startle them.
“Thank you for your kind words, father”, Oslando says with his hand stretched out to the priest. “The one who told us to look for you was the patron of the Ebony Hoof. He said you and Phenilias Arkhon were figuring out how and why this curse struck your town and its citizens. We were wondering what you could tell us.”
The demon grabs his hand. The half-elf feels the rough and uneven the craggy skin press against his own. He can’t describe it in any other way than uncomfortable.
He maintains eye contact with the second head, but can’t help but notice the upper head turning towards the vibrant part of the garden surrounding the altar.
“Brother Rendor.” The upper head’s voice sounds like the draft blowing into your house during a storm. “Join us.”
Oslando and his companions turn as well, looking who of the few demons tending to the garden will join them. One of them stands up quickly, dropping his fairly primitive gardening tools, and tries to grab the robe that will guide him to the altar. He is blind, obviously. He moves carefully into their direction, one hand reaching out in front of him to warn him when he’s about to bump into someone or something.
“Kaldare, father Karrion?”
Now that he’s closer, they can see and hear that he’s still a young demon. His skin is fair, his horns are small and his voice cracks like a boy who just reached puberty.
“Yes, we called for you, indeed. We want you to tell our visitors what you told us when you lost your sight.” He sees the hesitation in Rendor’s body language. “Hurry, nemon, spit it out.”
Apparently the degree of Karrion’s kindness fluctuates heavily depending on whom he’s speaking to. The stern voice he calls him “boy” with makes the young brother shiver shortly with fright, after which he lifts his head, creating the illusion of making eye contact when he clearly can’t. A well-known orange glow around his eyes gives it away immediately.
“I was praying”, Rendor says with a nervous trembling. “Then I heard a voice calling out for me. It was a woman’s voice, first soft and kind, but it became louder and louder, until her screaming was the only thing left. I looked up and everything was dark. In that darkness I saw countless milky eyes staring back at me. After those disappeared, the screaming stopped and then there was nothing left.”
Geen opmerkingen:
Een reactie posten