Hall of Infinite Doors
You step back and face whatever's coming. Maybe you're paralyzed with fear, maybe you're actually brave, but you can't run - whatever it is knows where you are and can probably follow faster than you can run. You can figure out what to do once you actually see what you're facing.
You just wish you were prepared.
It tumbles to the ground with a light skittering, arranging itself upward to face you. It might have - must have been human at some point. The face is male, bald, the mouth hideously distended. Its arms are freakishly long, with hands so thin and clawlike the flesh looks like webs over the muscle and bone. It has no legs - only its arms and a sort of queer articulated ribcage, with ribs that click on the ground like crab legs and a lashing, pointed metallic backbone that stabs into the ground like a spear. Its heart is luminous, sick green, and a bloated black tongue lolls from its mouth as it turns its empty eyes to regard you.
And it... chuckles?
"A sojourner it is," it gurgles. It doesn't speak any language you recognize - it croaks air through its ruined throat and chokes on its tongue, and somehow you understand. "Who came here by one of the other ways. You are a... curiosity. You are a sorcerer?" It laps the air with its massive tongue. "No. A live one. A terrified one."
It chews the air, lacerating its tongue. Thick drops of bilious blood moisten the rock as it skitters toward you, somehow managing a graceful locomotion with its disparate parts. "Be scared, if you want, but I won't harm you. You're too... interesting. We do not entertain the living often in Hell."
A heady trumpet beats the air like a brass mallet on an unsuspecting skull, and you hear a hard march behind you. Turning, you spot a black blot somewhere far away, but winding closer across the red soil. The thing behind you chuckles. "Ah, nobility comes to welcome you, and quick. You will be given a tour, I do think?" It licks the air and sidles closer, close enough for you to smell its iron stink.
"I propose a deal to you, yes? I am Igot, a scavenger - I have traveled the breadth of the roof of Hell and know its every corridor and tribe. I can... represent you here, yes? Be your guide... your protector. The damned have much to hate of you, uncondemned as you are - and the powers have much to want of you. But if you will accept my help, I can tell you much of this place, yes? I can protect you - from the physical dangers, and the more... esoteric threats."
"Just say the word, and I will call you master. Say it, yes?"
Igot trails one clawed finger across your skin, soft enough not to cut but enough to let you feel its sharpness. This thing appears fawning and sincere - but the mere touch of the thing is so awful you feel your entire being recoil.
You just wish you were prepared.
It tumbles to the ground with a light skittering, arranging itself upward to face you. It might have - must have been human at some point. The face is male, bald, the mouth hideously distended. Its arms are freakishly long, with hands so thin and clawlike the flesh looks like webs over the muscle and bone. It has no legs - only its arms and a sort of queer articulated ribcage, with ribs that click on the ground like crab legs and a lashing, pointed metallic backbone that stabs into the ground like a spear. Its heart is luminous, sick green, and a bloated black tongue lolls from its mouth as it turns its empty eyes to regard you.
And it... chuckles?
"A sojourner it is," it gurgles. It doesn't speak any language you recognize - it croaks air through its ruined throat and chokes on its tongue, and somehow you understand. "Who came here by one of the other ways. You are a... curiosity. You are a sorcerer?" It laps the air with its massive tongue. "No. A live one. A terrified one."
It chews the air, lacerating its tongue. Thick drops of bilious blood moisten the rock as it skitters toward you, somehow managing a graceful locomotion with its disparate parts. "Be scared, if you want, but I won't harm you. You're too... interesting. We do not entertain the living often in Hell."
A heady trumpet beats the air like a brass mallet on an unsuspecting skull, and you hear a hard march behind you. Turning, you spot a black blot somewhere far away, but winding closer across the red soil. The thing behind you chuckles. "Ah, nobility comes to welcome you, and quick. You will be given a tour, I do think?" It licks the air and sidles closer, close enough for you to smell its iron stink.
"I propose a deal to you, yes? I am Igot, a scavenger - I have traveled the breadth of the roof of Hell and know its every corridor and tribe. I can... represent you here, yes? Be your guide... your protector. The damned have much to hate of you, uncondemned as you are - and the powers have much to want of you. But if you will accept my help, I can tell you much of this place, yes? I can protect you - from the physical dangers, and the more... esoteric threats."
"Just say the word, and I will call you master. Say it, yes?"
Igot trails one clawed finger across your skin, soft enough not to cut but enough to let you feel its sharpness. This thing appears fawning and sincere - but the mere touch of the thing is so awful you feel your entire being recoil.