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Between the Worlds Story starter clip 2 |
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<center> ok yall, heres the starter clip number 2. it was gonna be a bar, but then i figured it would be a good setting for something later. here ya go.</center>
Beyond the distant hills and flatlands, through the harshest of deserts and the roughest of seas, where the mortal world ends is a place between the two worlds, where both spiritual and mortal collide, fusing, shifting, morphing and changing constantly. There, there is no good nor bad, where everything is as it should be. Chaoitic, yet with order.
In this realm between, to some it is paradice, to others hell. When you reach beyond the mortal, with each person, in the beginning, they see what reflects upon their inner soul, yet as they continue forward they shift into a land of ice, where everything is frozen, and shadows rule. The air is frigid, and the frozen ground coated with thin layers of ice, cracking beneith your feet as you walk on. Snow begins to fall, and an icey wind begins to rise, cutting at your flesh, seeping into your body. The cold circles you, trying to get beneith your skin, to your warmth, to turn you as cold and icy as it.
Many do not make it beyond this point, freezing to death, their remands, what visible, burried beneith the constantly falling snow. The sky is always darkened, when there are not heavy clouds filled with snow, it is lit by a silver moon, or there is no light but for the distant stars, which even then seem cold and distant, different then those of the human, or mortal, realm.
As you continue, in the distance, standing amid the shroud of black shadow and the white of the snow, seems to be a small building, but as you treck on it comes to be a massive building, giving off the sence of evil in its presence, standing as tall and as proud as the oldest of mountains.
Made of dark stone and wood, the massive doors that create the entrance are taller then five men, standing shoulder upon shoulder, and as wide as three. Inscribed upon the dark, heavy wood is written symbols of a long forgotten lanquage the unfamiliar characters inscribed in the purest of silver, in the little light of the world seeming to shift and form, like water flowing beneith the cracks of the wood, the language dead to the world for centries past, in its words it tells the story of the place, but to all it is wordless and meaningless, yet it stood as a protection against the cold and danger.
For any to enter through the wooden doors into whatever lie beyond, they first had to knock for entrance, to ask permission to enter, for the door had no handles of any form, and could not be forced open. Only through the blessing of whoever, or whatever, was behind the doors could they pass.
From the door hung, cast of solid silver, depicting a scene of a wolf looking into the eyes of those who stood before it in a haunting gaze, was a giant knocker, weighing that of a man. The wind, once there, began to whisper, inaudible words of death and fear, it becoming harsher, and colder, almost to unbarable lengths, testing you.
 Silver_Flame118 · Sat Mar 19, 2005 @ 04:18am · 0 Comments |
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