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=== Zuratha, the Caverns that Whisper === | === Zuratha, the Caverns that Whisper === | ||
| − | <I>"Survival's a long reach." | + | <I>"Survival's a long reach."[[TheHoverpope/Zuratha/I]]> |
Zuratha, the Caverns that Whisper, stretch underneath all of Malfeas, Binding themselves to his bones, writhing through the world and pushing aside matter that they might form. It is a complex of tunnels, entered by spreading wounds in the ground, lit by the pale pulsing light of his calcitic flesh. The tunnels seem ethereal, unreal, the white, waxy stone seeming somewhat transluscent to show shadows of incomprehensible things that invariably turn out to be reflections, hallucinations, dreams. Zuratha is literally endless, his arteries stretching an infinite distance in all directions, bounding within himself caverns of incomprehensible size, whole worlds made of nothing but lost rumor and whispered tales, spun whole from his bones. | Zuratha, the Caverns that Whisper, stretch underneath all of Malfeas, Binding themselves to his bones, writhing through the world and pushing aside matter that they might form. It is a complex of tunnels, entered by spreading wounds in the ground, lit by the pale pulsing light of his calcitic flesh. The tunnels seem ethereal, unreal, the white, waxy stone seeming somewhat transluscent to show shadows of incomprehensible things that invariably turn out to be reflections, hallucinations, dreams. Zuratha is literally endless, his arteries stretching an infinite distance in all directions, bounding within himself caverns of incomprehensible size, whole worlds made of nothing but lost rumor and whispered tales, spun whole from his bones. | ||
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Zuratha, the Caverns that Whisper
"Survival's a long reach."TheHoverpope/Zuratha/I>
Zuratha, the Caverns that Whisper, stretch underneath all of Malfeas, Binding themselves to his bones, writhing through the world and pushing aside matter that they might form. It is a complex of tunnels, entered by spreading wounds in the ground, lit by the pale pulsing light of his calcitic flesh. The tunnels seem ethereal, unreal, the white, waxy stone seeming somewhat transluscent to show shadows of incomprehensible things that invariably turn out to be reflections, hallucinations, dreams. Zuratha is literally endless, his arteries stretching an infinite distance in all directions, bounding within himself caverns of incomprehensible size, whole worlds made of nothing but lost rumor and whispered tales, spun whole from his bones.
Many stories have been told about Zuratha - that buried in him, in the central cavern that is his essence, there is a treasure that is the very concept of treasure, grand beyond imagining. To those who seek knowledge, it has been whispered that a map of his body would reveal the most profound truths of Malfeas and creation alike. Perhaps most compelling to the denizens of the demon city, it has been whispered that there are passages from his depths that lead out, to creation and to stranger places, exits that are not watched by Cecylene or any other. All of these things are true, and all of them are not. In times past, all of these things could be found in the body of Zuratha, as could any other legend that was sought. Now, he has forgotten, and so these things are as hidden from others as they are to him. Those who enter Zuratha are lost, eternally wandering, always sure that their goal is down one more tunnel. Some find their goal, a cold reflection of what they expected; a treasure of gold that turns to sand, a path to a creation that is monochrome and empty of all life; those that do cannot understand the mockery that is their discovery.
Zuratha did not suffer fetich death to reduce him so; nor did he waste his power battling for freedom. Once, he was the omnipresent underpinning of creation, the roots that held the world together that it not crumble in the tides of the wyld. When the unshaped horrors outside the world pressed against what was, his endless reach would push them back again without a thought. His great heart was a jade stone, and to stare on its surface one understood all that transpired in creation, everything that his broad shoulders held up. When he was bound, he found that there was no purpose to his existence any more; Malfeas needs not his strength to persevere, and his heart is now blank, a bulk of soapstone that shows nothing but yet conveys: "The world carries on without me, as it seems it always could."
Zuratha now passes eons with his remembered dreams of past glories whispering tales about the things that he once contained, the stories and the gifts, so that demons and men may walk his corridors. He try to feel a reflection of the passions of those victims, but it proves impossible; and in a vain hope, Zuratha wishes that his victims may actually find the purpose that he has lost, that it will be revealed to him anew.
