I'm not entirely sure what I want to do with this, but I haven't written much of anything in ages. I'd hate to bore you with my private life, so I'll get to the story. Much of this drawn on the Iron Maiden concept album 'Seventh Son of a Seventh Son', but naturally with my own spin on it. I'm not entirely sure what I want to do with this story, just writing it or tweaking it a little and making an RP, but I know I want it to go somewhere. Just let me know what you think.
The great stone hollow echoed the footfalls of the sorcerer as he followed the pathway to the alter, a body hanging limp in his arms. Before him burned six fires set on pedestals, set in a ring around the altar. A seventh pedestal sat cold, its fire unlit. The cold stone of the chamber glowed softly in the firelight, the sound of water dripping from the rough ceiling thunderous in its volume. The sorcerer set the body on the Altar and began chanting.
"Seven deadly sins, seven ways to win, seven holy paths to hell and your trip begins. Seven downward slopes, seven bloodied hopes, seven are your burning fires, seven your desires." With a flick of his wrist the final pedestal erupted in flame, and in that brief moment it seemed as if daylight had found its way into the cavern beneath the hill. In that instant the sorcerer gazed once more upon the body of the boy, who must have been no more than sixteen. A shame his life had to be cut so short, but it was for a higher purpose that his earthly vessel might be better used.
"Gemini is rising, Gabriel lies sleeping, the seventh seal has been broken. Come forth, Moonchild! Let me give form to the formless one! Come forth, that you might fulfill the prophecy!" His words hung in the air, their power lingering even as they dropped into indecipherable reverberations. The firelight ebbed, and then ceased completely to leave the sorcerer in a perfect blackness.
And then the light returned.
The boy was sitting up on the pedestal, his eyes fixed on the sorcerer.
Far beneath the hollowed mountain a sleeping boy was awakened by a horrible nightmare. He had been engulfed in flames, and all around him he heard screams of agony and suffering that mortal men could not begin to comprehend; pain that would drive men mad. He too sat up, though he had no firelight to help his eyes. All he had to guide his sight were the pale moonbeams fighting their way through the clouds to shine through his window. A scream lie stuck in his throat, a scream he dared not utter lest the others follow. The other screams, the other voices.
It was the seventh night he had been awaken by such dreams but tonight they had held a power that was absent before, a power that chilled the boy to his very core. It was inexplicable, but it had grasped him so completely that even as he sat awake he fought to free himself from its grasp. "The Prophet..." he said, the soft sound of his voice frightening him. "The Prophet will know... Or perhaps the Clairvoyant... No, I'll see the Prophet in the morning."
He laid back and waited for sleep to return to him.
It was long in coming.
Topic: Seventh Son (Read 1388 times)