The Palace of Souls
There had been a section of land that on a many occasions had called to her. It was cradled in the bosom of the mountain ranges, its southern sand lapped at by the kiss of the ocean. To the East rippled in the sands of the desert and west were expanses of marsh, woodlands, rolling hills and sultry glens. Though unclaimed as it were, many trading roads cut through it. Vagabonds and nomadic traders traveled through its borders almost daily ... but this might soon change.
Approaching the large clearing, her cobalt eyes watched in the darkness of the night, seeking sign of a stranger in the midst that might dare catch her vigil. When the only call to fall upon her ears was that of the great hawks, she nodded to herself and stepped forward.
Disrobing herself of her midnight cloak, she felt the coarse fabric ripple down her bare legs and fall to the ground. Upon the wet grass she let this lie, and she stepped -- 'skyclad' as it were -- to her appointed position.
Lifting her arms, her head thrown back and hair tumbling near the ground, she began the incantation. Words spilled over her lips like honey and fell to the ground below. Her voice rippled upon the air, as its pitch and layers grew and extended. No longer did it sound as though a single woman we speaking these words, but a chorus of midnight angels, singing their heavenly succor.
I invoke you, Souls of the Night
(The wicked God
The wicked Demon)
Together with you I call to the Night, to the Jaded Eve'
(The wicked Genius
The wicked Winds)
I call in the Evening, at Midnight, and at Dawn
The ground visibly rippled as the words were held fast. With the moon held in perfect equinox above her, and the land ripe for the ravaging, everything was moving like clockwork.
Souls given over to the dead, turn back!
(The Demon of the Desert)
A pillar from the East shattered from the ground, souls crying forth from their awakened tombs. A horrific roar shot across the lands, awakening many from their beds as it rippled toward the populus.
Souls seen dancing with Death, turn back!
(The Demon of the Mountain)
To the North arose a secondary pillar, its true form obvious as its arms rose from its sides and shook at the heavens. With the invocation only half complete, the beast was not released, and its feet remained welded into the ground.
Souls thrown to the side of the dead, turn back!
(The Demon of the Sea)
The waves of the ocean rose and slammed into the coast, a tendril of water lashing upward at the sky and rising to glory. It, likes its brothers, was caught half within the ground. And Fyre had no plans of releasing these foul specters upon the lands.
Souls thrown to the ground of the dead, turn back!
(The Demon of the Marsh)
The final pillar, rising from the marshlands and setting to flight many a flock of birds, let out a cry of rage. In sync with its captured brothers, it rose skyward; towering over the lands like a monstrosity crafted by some doped up architect. It was ... perfection.
Souls buried in the coffin with the dead, turn back!
(The Demon that seizeth the body)
As further words were chanted, the souls of the departed rose from the ground and danced about the raging demons. Their ethereal forms wove amongst the limbs of the beasts, circling and caressing their death skins with that of the pure unholy.
Souls given over to destruction, turn back!
(The Demon that rendeth the body)
The solidification process was slow, like a river in winter coming to a full freeze. As the souls rose against the demon's legs, they began to form a muck that caked and fell rigid with her words.
Souls enclosed within the walls, turn back!
(The Demon that seizeth man)
The release of the souls continued, as the Palace grew to stepper expanses. The base now sat as solid as a great oak, expanding across the vast open land that had once been all that lived within this plane. Upward it towered, lasting nearly six stories -- though with its vaulted ceilings, it would only be four within.
Souls struck down on doorsteps, turn back!
(The Demon that seizeth man)
The turrets and peaks came into form on the outside edges, where the Palace would only reach two stories. Further up the souls entangled around the torsos of the demonic prisoners.
Souls locked into the gate of the wall, turn back!
(The Demon who worketh Evil)
The third story now rose complete ...
Souls turned over to the God of Death, turn back!
(The Spawn of the wicked Demon)
... and then the forth. Utter perfection each foot of the way.
All their speech fills the desert and the wastes
The souls whispered. Joyful to be released; anguished to once again be caught.
(The Evil Angel)
Perched atop the great structure was one who joined the cavalcade willingly. A former Angel of Death, who had given his life for that of one he would not take into the arms of Death: his one and only True Love.
(The Evil Eye)
Four sides. Eight eyes. Pure loyalty. Though demons rarely show loyalty, they understand when they've been tricked, and this gains the caster a respect normally not found. Fyre was now embraced by this loyalty, and they would watch the Palace and warn of those approaching.
(The Evil Mouth)
If commanded, the gates could close and the only things to escape would be the twisted riddles. No one without permission was admitted, unless they could solve the gate's riddles.
(The Evil Tongue)
The Palace's fierce appetite was fed by the Tongue that lapped the lands every night. The Tongue was a band of demonites, who swarmed in the darkness returning the innocent souls that had been slain upon the battlefields.
(The Evil Mind)
Intelligence in its own right. The Palace held a grasp with the Earth, and the populus that none could ever truly comprehend -- but Fyre. The Palace's Mistress was the only one who could calm the savage beast that lived within.
According to the Decree which the Gods of the Night have issued
(The Most Perfect Sorcery)
It is finished
Gasping for air, Fyre looked up from her knelt position upon the ground. Sweat streamed over her body, running into her eyes and dropping soundly to the ground -- only to collect and appear as dew upon the grass. In the distance, a yelp came and turning to gaze over her shoulder, she smiled seeing her wolf of silver.
Nudging her Mistress, the she-wolf helped Fyre to her feet and lead her forward to the entrance of the Palace. As if sentries watched and activated the gates, the doors swung open and permitted entrance.
Through the halls they wove their way. Furnished and bedazzling -- with crystal, silk and incense -- it appeared made for a King. Too tired for the night, Fyre found her way to one of the lower floor bedrooms, designed for guests and upon the bed she crashed. Not speck of sunlight would dare breech into the heart of the Palace, so this tiny vampire had not a single care, nor worry, in this department.
Through the remainder of the night she slept, and did not awaken until well past the fall of the sun the next day. No longer did she allow herself the sleep of the dead, for there were plans to be put into action.
(( Author’s Note - The clips in italics were mixed up from various portions of: The MAKLU Text, Necronomicon. Added into it have been pieces of this writer's own twisted imagination, for the Necronomicon is all too boring word for word (who thought such a book would actually reflect so much ... goodness?). For those offended, I offer my sincere apologizes, but hey -- you read it, now didn't you? ))
I loved this post.