The eternal graveyards [closed to rimril and Devin Argente]

[Rimril]

A lonely shadowy figure was floating over the pastures in the middle of the night. The moon was shining ever so bright, and the stars sparkled like little diamonds in the sky. The wind, stirred through the trees, playing with the shadows forming creepy images. The only animals that dared to venture out were owls hunting for mice, and some wolves howling to the full moon.
The figure approached a colossal gate, made from iron staves with sharp spear-like points on the ends. On top of it, a broken wooden sign read: "Cemetery, enter at own risk".
He opened the gate slowly; it made a squeezing sound, which disturbed the sound of the howling wolves. There were thousands of tombstones, all signed elegantly with the names of the dead. He walked to a large grave in the east corner, it read: "A unknown warrior".
"Yes, Ashes from a warrior fallen, the last item required to finish my mixture". He took a spade and began to dig, not knowing someone was observing him from out of the woods"

[Devin Argente]

The breeze coursed through leaf and branch above. Its caress was like an ominous whisper, a lingering curse spouted by those long dead, towards those who dared defile their final resting place. It was not a particularly cold breeze - Corone's island climate would not allow the northern chill to travel upon it - but nonetheless, Devin shivered as he moved closer to the isolated graveyard. The moonlight was pale, and the sky cloudless, though the dark canopy of leaves overhead absorbed much of the nocturnal light, leaving only shadow to dance upon the plant-littered corridor that Devin sneaked through. With each little branch that broke beneath his shoes, each branch he swept aside, he felt more uncomfortable, and the trembling of his limbs grew stronger. But why? Apart from the normal noises of the night, there was naught that broke through the dark patch of forest's tranquillity.

He had to continuously remind himself of why he'd come here in the first place; travelling the countryside was a dangerous endeavour, especially when night had caught the continent in its atramentous embrace. Something scurried over the ground beside him. In a reflex, he grabbed the concealed handles of his silver katars. What little self-control remained restrained him from actually unsheathing the argent blades. He sighed. Sometimes he wished that he'd never found these weapons in the first place. Although deadly beyond words, they appeared to brew paranoia inside their wielder. He'd noticed it in Radasanth, Akashima, and now here; a ceaseless itch beneath the skin, the feeling of being watched ubiquitously. The enforcer continued on his way, noticing that his path would be blocked by a pointy fence in the near future.

So, the cemetery is here, after all. Kudos to Zamari for pinpointing it on my map.

He grimaced as he thought of the fiery Nekojin girl. She'd hated him as much as he hadn't understood her - and still, she somehow felt obliged to help him whenever he requested. Even though she had the annoying tendency to treat him like a small child, Devin was grateful. According to the scriptures of the Spirit Warders of Akashima, this desolate accumulation of tombs and epitaphs contained the grave of one of his ancestors. Or at least someone who had known of the powers of the katars that slithered around Devin's arms in these times. A member of the Order of Argent, forever forgotten, left only with a nameless gravestone...

His thoughts were so deep that he only noticed that he'd reached the graveyard fence when he bumped into it, his head bouncing painfully off the iron's stale surface. He took a few steps backwards while he rubbed through his hair to drive away the sting. How to get around this obstacle? Climbing was not an option. And although the forest stretched into the cemetery beyond the man-made threshold, the Argente saw no overhanging branches to leap from. Of course, he could try to walk around it, but he'd most likely have to enter the open field, and with the prospect of howling wolves in the back of his mind, he did not fancy the thought. He steadied himself. As the headache from his previous encounter with the unyielding metal faded away, he entered a state of great concentration. His eyes no longer saw colour, no light, no darkness - only different shades of slate. Numbers and symbols twirled around him, skittered over the frames of every object around him. It took only five seconds. His hallucination was complete.

He walked forward. The iron spires that formed the fence became clearer as the chestnut-haired man drew closer. Devin increased the power of his focus. It brought down great physical pressure upon his body, but he kept moving, walking forward. And then, although none apart from himself could see it, the iron blocking his path began to bend. The middles of each thin column curled away from his lean form, creating a round opening large enough for him to step through. The strain on his mind increased a thousandfold; creating an alternate reality, even if only for one person, is not a task performed lightly. With a groan, he leaped through the opening, and as he landed on the other side, the hallucination snapped. Breathing heavily, Devin looked behind him. Nothing had changed. The fence was still there, its iron untouched and glimmering where moonlight was able to touch its surface. The only difference was that Devin looked at it from the other side. From inside the cemetery.

With arms trembling in the aftermath of his focus, he continued. The border of the woods was now clearly visible; he could even distinguish several gravestones, big and small, jutting out from the ground to remind the living of whom rested beneath them. It was quite silent. Some insects chirped in the grass. It would have been quite the restful picture, had it not been for the rhythmic sounds of dirt being torn from the soil. The sonance was so systematic that Devin immediately recognized it as the echo of a sentient creature at work. Someone was digging! He moved closer to the source of the gravelly sounds. In the distance, he saw a shadow bent over a grave. Its form was unnatural, with long, spiny arms. He could not clearly distinguish any more of the graverobber's features. Not that he needed to.

The penalty for graverobbing in Corone is death. And a shiny, pretty penny for me.

He grinned. Of course, he did not know the extent of the graverobber's power. That, however, was irrelevant. He would simply sneak up to the criminal, slit the man's throat, and take any valuables from the body. It would not get him in trouble with any authorities, and it'd leave him richer than before. Like a predator preparing its claws, he pulled the mechanism of his katars into position. The silver blades shot out of his sleeves without making any kind of noise, almost as though it knew the wishes of its master. Professionally, Devin hunched over and sneaked out of the concealment of the trees. Like a snake, he moved from gravestone to gravestone. His heartbeats came faster and faster. Adrenaline guided his feet as he moved closer and closer. He was halfway between two marble tombs when he finally got a good look at the spade-wielding creature.

It was a monstrosity.

Devin could repress a frightened shriek, but subconsciously took a step to the rear. He stepped on something sharp and pointy; he staggered backwards with an audible grunt, then ungracefully fell to the grassy soil. He sat completely still, mentally cursed the pebble that had made him fall. His hands were clenched to fists, the knuckles pale below his katars. With lips pressed firmly together, the enforcer could only hope that the abomination had not heard him approach, while at the same time he knew that such hope was faint.

[Rimril]

Only few know, that in the outlands of Dheathian, an underground palace is hidden. Inside it, uncountable riches such as gold, diamonds, rubies and an immense library with innumerable books of knowledge from all of our great ancestors combined. The palace belonged to a very powerful archmage, who guarded it very well. Before drawing his last breath, he sealed off his realm with a nearly unbreakable spell. The core of the molecules from anyone who dared to enter would burn instantly, killing him from the inside out.

Yutaji had read lots of legends about this archmage. It was said; that he had influence on the world around him in ways physics does not readily permit. After hundreds of year, the wheel of time finally killed him. Yutaji was bound the find out how he could break the spell that protected the palace. Recently he had come across some ancient scripts with magical formulas written all over them. Most of them were useless, but one looked very interesting. When he read the mantra written on the script out loud, three spirits appeared. They looked like small floating thunderbolts. They angrily asked who dared to awake them. Yutaji told his intentions to the strange thunder-like entities. Eager for more sleep they decided to answer provided that he would leave them alone.

He needed a mixture, made out of blood from a pagan altar and ashes from a warrior fallen, stirred twice contraclockwise with a pure golden sword. The blood from a pagan altar was fairly easy to collect; he had stolen it from a local beast tribe. The sword made from the purest gold wasn't hard to get either. Back on Scara Brae, he had heard rumours of a blacksmith, whose father recently died, leaving his son a golden sword as an heirloom. It had been very easy to kill the smith and claim the sword.

And now he was here, in search of the last ingredient. “Ashes from a warrior fallen” He did not know who this warrior was, but he did not care. Once he had the ashes, he would finish the mixture and infinite knowledge and wealth would be his.

He had been digging for a while now, moving more and more piles of earth, hoping he would find an urn. "Finaly" He found something, but it certainly wasn't an urn. Now digging with his hands, a piece of wood embedded in stone became visible. He looked closer, "A door!?" he though bewildered, "but why?".

Out of nowhere, a groan disturbed the silence. It was only a soft groan, but loud enough to hear. Yutaji, still stunned of his finding, turned around and gazed to the place where the noise came from. If someone was there, he would be in great trouble. This was his territory. Anyone who dared to defy him here, would almost certainly find his dead.

He floated slowly, but without fear to the direction of the noise. It was to dark to see anything. But that didn't matter; he had been in these situations before. He concentrated himself on the essence of his soul, a misty greenish shape appeared in front of him. It tore through the air immediately, hitting the grassy soil near the source of the noice, and emitted a green light.

For a second, Yutaji could see a shadowy figure sitting in the grass. "What is your purpose here? Speak quickly!" he said out loud, but with a certain calmness in his voice.