[piosenniel]

Arelindel's post:

Naramarth moved silently through the dark, shadowy corridors of the dark citadel, his feet making little sound as he strided between the shadows. Banners of blood red hang down the walls, still and foreboding in the dry, hot air trapped inside the citadel’s walls. The air burnt his lungs, a feeling which Naramarth loved. His hands went to his throat adjusting the ties that held his cloak in place, the hem of which was trailing lifelessly on the floor, making a soft swishing sound as he walked.

Naramarth quickened his pace, clenching his pale hands beneath his robes, something was happening in this place, the air had become drier recently if that was possible and whatever the change, Naramarth intended to use it to his advantage.

Naramarth suddenly stopped at a banner. He looked it up and down, admiring the work that had been done. He smirked to himself to see drops of blood on it, and not old blood, dry and hard but fresh, it made his skin crawl; tingle even with pleasure. One of the priestess had been playing with the slaves again. He cackled to himself as he continued on. The word had been spread that there was going to be a ‘trip’ to deal with the rebels of the desert. Naramarth hoped to be one the priests chosen to go. He would take great pleasure in dealing with the rebels who stood against the will of his Dark Lord and God. His hand reached through the folds of his robe, his pale skin glistened with oil even though the skin was brittle. He rubbed his hands together, loving the sound of skin against skin and bones snapping back into place. He was ready to honour his God and destroy the forces that stood against him.

Finally Naramarth reached the end of the corridor, in front of him stood a huge pair of doors. Glistening in the candle light to shone on them. They were made of dark metal like most important doors in the citadel. They were huge, reaching up to the ceiling, shrouded in mist and shadow that always hung from the roof beams. His hand ran over the design cut into the door; a huge eye lidless, rimmed with flame. Naramarth’s heart soared as he pushed against the weight of the door. Of all the chambers of the priesthood this was the biggest, the most important save the temple where they prayed and worshipped their God. This was the meeting hall and this was where Naramarth’s adventure would begin.