I was caught; the first time, the reprimand was pretty severe, but the second time they just threw me out. But not before I'd learned some interesting lore about Shyrdor's cults in the region, his followers, and a couple of cantrips. Who knew there would be magic spells hidden in a religious tome? Not me. But I definitely took advantage. I didn't find learning those any more difficult than the teachings of Phesyn; the magic just came. Ultimately it was just a little prank, but the Prelate of the Sanctuary of Phesyn at Zoideswich will probably be afraid of the dark forever now.
Nowhere else to go, some might have run back to their home village, or descended into the alleyways and sewers of the streets. Not I. I followed some vague clues to an old hermit worshiper of Shyrdor and asked to become his disciple. Unfortunately, he was a bloated ogre not inclined to take disciples; he actually did teach me a few things in the short time I was there, but only kept me around long enough until I was no longer half-starving and wasted away then tried to kill and eat me. I fled, and I managed to take a charm of survival before fleeing.
That kept me alive until my next lead panned out, a dark witch deep in a swamp. I'm fairly certain I would've been eaten by crocodiles for sure, or drained dry by leeches, if it wasn't for the charm. The witch had some knowledge of Shyrdor, as well as the rest of the gods, but she had long ago made a pact with the Goetic Nethermonarchs for more power. This actually interested me a lot more than being a priest of the cave god; little did I know I was putting the pieces I would need later together, but it's funny how fate works.
At first, Fryndi the witch seemed like she might be the answer to my prayers. So to speak. She taught me my first actual black magic, and even a blood magic ritual. In return I cleaned up her whole swamp hut, helped dry her herbs. The mud was awful. But I'd cleaned quite a lot back when I was a prospective novice priest, worked in the kitchen, so it didn't break me or anything. I assume it wasn't enough, though. Only a few weeks in, she tried to eat me too. She probably would have, actually, but I managed to knock over her bubbling cauldron in my frenzy. In the chaos that ensued, she was quite upset, and I grabbed some loose notes she had laying around on the way out. Turns out it was a summoning ritual. All in all, it was a net win, really.
My last lead was an old cave shrine in the border mountains that supposedly was located in a place of strong power, a confluence of various spirit worlds crossing at a thin place of black magic. It sounded like just what I needed, since I certainly didn't have much real power of my own. I'd almost need a lie down after a few cantrips. With a place of power, I might be able to do something that might actually succeed. I just had to hope I could find it, and that it was still abandoned.
It took almost longer than I had to find that cave, though. By the time I did, I was practically on starvation's doorstep. And even then, I almost missed it. The entrance was barely visible. Rotting trees and underbrush nearly covered it, and ivy draped down like a curtain. It was barely a crack in the mountain rock. I stepped quickly through, ducking, hoping I wouldn't find any wild creatures, or worse, a pack of goblins. It was dark, dank, the floor covered in decomposing detritus. The cloying stench of decay was thick. Maybe it had once been an animal den, but it was empty now. I sighed in relief.
Feeling my way along the wall, I was excited to find another opening going deeper in, and the floor sloping down. I wished I had a torch, or knew a cantrip to make one. I didn't though. My knowledge was woefully inadequate. That's why I was here. So I kept feeling my way down into a dank cave covered in moss and mildew, and what I was hoping was mostly harmless mold. The cave floor was uneven, but not too slippery for how damp things were, and seemed to be spiraling downwards, which was at least the right direction. Before long, I seemed to catch a break; a strange, glowing lichen seemed to start coating the walls, releasing a dim but visible bluish light. That made it much less likely I would walk blindly off of a ledge or something, which was the sort of thing Shyrdor was fond of setting up. Or so I'd read.
Which was when I walked into the fungus field. Basically, the cave took a sharp turn, then opened up into a larger chamber. A few steps in, and something squished under my foot. A big cloud puffed up, which surprised me so much I spun and stumbled forward, waving my arms. I might have been alright at that point, but then I stepped on another, and then another, and pretty soon I was in a thick cloud of sickly sweet-smelling mushroom spores. I coughed and wheezed, doubled over, desperate for some clear air, but there really wasn't any.
Finally I fell to my hands and knees, eyes watering. I looked at what was on the floor of this chamber. When I realized what it was I was stepping on, my eyes widened and I looked up and around the cave. Sure enough, odd chromatic spots and multicolored blurs seemed to overlay my vision. Oh great: faedust puffshrooms. They weren't poisonous or anything; in fact, several preparations and concoctions used them, and I'd heard some people even ate them to get the effect on purpose. I couldn't imagine; I'd been extremely sheltered, if you hadn't guessed. But regardless, now I stood a chance of giggling to myself while I chased rainbow sparkles off a cliff.
I offhandedly grabbed a couple of the offending fungi, stuffing them in my robe, and wandered through the cavern chamber full of them, some in clusters and others in rings. I meandered somewhat aimlessly, looking at the walls, ceiling, the lichen and back down to the fungi, the colors and details and fuzziness different every time. I'm not sure how long I did this for; it could have been minutes or hours. Eventually I found a passage that continued the downward path, and wandered down it, bouncing back and forth from one side to the other, pushing off one wall then the other. I was confused, exhausted, and at this point pretty malnourished; but I endured, and I persevered.
Ultimately, I encountered definite signs that I was on the right track, and had found what I was looking for. On what had thus far been just a rocky irregular slope, carved stairs appeared, descending down into the depths. The walls took on an artificial, worked smoothness. Here and there were what appeared to be slots or brackets for torches. My heart thudded heavily in my chest. My mouth was dry. My hands sweat in anticipation. And finally, finally, there it was before me. A heavy stone door, carved with glyphs associated with Shyrdor, but also several other arcane sigils. Some I recognized, belonging to other gods, or of netherworld origin, and some I didn't. But that hardly bothered me. I knew there was too much I didn't know. My hope was that behind that door, at least some of the answers I needed awaited. I just needed to get it open.
There wasn't any obvious latch or mechanism. That wasn't really that surprising, of course, this being a doorway into a powerful magical site. But my mind was hazy, and after not very long trying to decipher the glyphs and sigils, their meanings, and their patterns, my head was starting to throb. Or maybe that was the mushroom powder wearing off? It was impossible for me to know. But I didn't turn away; I had to get in. Luckily, followers of Shyrdor weren't the most sophisticated sort. They didn't go in for intricate mind games, even in their magics. Cunning, yes, sneaky, sure, but not complex. And I'd had the luck to run into a couple different types of magical thinking, even if it wasn't for all that long. I was a quick learner anyway; that's how this whole thing had started.
So. The Shyrdor glyph. Easy enough. Hmm. The mouth sigil. The cave glyph. Ok, let's see. The fall glyph. The magic sigil. Nothing. I stopped to think; was I wrong, or was the sequence not finished? I took a moment, trying to think it through. On a whim, I tapped the netherworld sigil. Instinct? Luck? Something remembered subconsciously? To this day, I don't know. But that was it. It worked; the glyphs and sigils all lit up, and with a grinding shake and the sound of stone on stone, the door swung open.
A red light shone from within, and I was hit with a blast of heat. Oh. I walked through the door, and onto a small bridge arching over a flow of lava. It led to a smooth, circular platform. On one side, a small, raised pool of water, almost like a natural fountain, was fed by a small waterfall. Inside, tiny white eyeless fish swam. Around the rest of the platform, the lava pooled instead. The heat felt intense, but not altogether unpleasant after the wet cold I had been in recently. And in the middle of the platform, a large, faceted shard of obsidian thrust upward, shining dully to about chest height for me. The top was smooth, flat, a perfect natural altar. This was it. I slumped to the ground at the foot of the bridge on the platform. A wave of triumph washed over me, but relief at the end of my quest lay above all else, and I took a moment to indulge the bone-deep exhaustion I had been fighting. I didn't have anything left. I would either succeed here, or I would die here, my skeleton a mystery for the next wanderer. I vaguely wondered if the stone door would shut itself, and hoped so; let someone else solve their own damn door puzzle.
I gathered myself, and stood back up. Reaching between the robe and tunic I wore, I pulled out the small bag I had managed to keep through my journey. I sighed, then took off my soiled, tattered robe, wearing just my tunic in the dry heat of the chamber. Pulling out the witch pages I'd taken, I looked at them for what must have been the hundredth time. There were spots and smudges, a few burgeoning rips, but I knew them like the back of my hand at this point. Then I put them down, and reached into the bag, pulling out what remained: a piece of chalk, which only willpower had kept me from trying to eat, a small flint blade, and a tiny ivory cup. I looked up at the obsidian altar. Yes, this was perfect.
I put the blade and cup on the smooth obsidian, then set to work with the chalk, drawing the configuration I thought I'd need to do what I wanted. First were some basic shapes and lines, to help make sure the distances and proportions were correct. Some of those would be erased later, but others were integral to the whole diagram. Next were additional basic symbols and shapes, circles, both single and double, pentagrams, hexagrams, sigils for the elements, sigils for this world and the netherworld. Finally, the circle of power, and the major elements, the specific glyphs and sigils which call to the Nethermonarchs in supplication. My movements were methodical, and I kept double and triple checking myself despite going slowly enough to make sure I made little to no mistakes. This was all or nothing, and I had had my fill of "nothing" in my life.
The major work of my circle complete, I went to the altar and took the flint blade. With a deep breath, I made a quick slice in my palm while holding it over the little ivory cup, then squeezed to get enough blood to fill it. The sharp pain helped me focus, and once that task was complete I used the blood trace over the main elements of the circle, binding my life force to it. As soon as I did, I could feel a change in me, feel what was happening. The circle began to draw in power from me, but more, it drank hungrily of the swirling vortex of energies within this small chamber that I could now feel surging all around me. It was a heady feeling, and my voice was strong as I started intoning the chants and mantras, in alternating sequences, that would complete the ritual and ignite the circle.
"Renque tuteiayal Gemory et Xavoaaulum lutio Paimon acraoalium! Syvargo ravcele Caeloybus occyytuna! Walouame! Walouame!"
I took the ivory cup, still partially filled with my blood and put it back on the altar, then waved the blade over it as I called upon the forces that might finally, finally give me what I wanted.
"Ascenest Gemory walouame Queaeinea angiaadius Amduscias! Vassago eccdo et Ronové! Walouame!" My voice rose, pulled out of me as the words tumbled of their own volition from my throat, rushing headlong into the seething roil of churning energy now decidedly moving in response to them, and to the shapes and symbols and sigils within my circle.
"Marchocias! Taniautio hawosis atencele! Walouame! Syvargo ravcele! Walouame! Syvargo ravcele! WALOUAME!"
With that final, fateful cry, my circle flared to full life, a glowing greenish yellow-purple searing itself into my eyes and throwing the chamber into a stark relief. The altar began to glow in response, a deep purple, and energy poured from it to the circle until its light was all but blinding. Suddenly I felt weightless, as if I had been carrying some great weight and now was relieved of it. My feet felt as if they floated up, off the ground, and hovered there. The pain in my hand, the churning in my belly, the strain of my limbs, it all washed away and I felt simply lightness. And then I heard Them. Heard Their voice for the very first time, the tones in my ear an ecstasy like none I had ever felt before.
OHhhhhdarling! Aiii sweet man, I hear! I hear! Thine words are true and genuine, and thy call is answered. I am come, I am before thee, open thine eyes to me that we wouldst have congress.
