The Cavern of Secrets holds much more than you can imagine. Once a forbidden place, the ban on entrance has been released...yet, is it a good idea to enter?
Once a great battle had been fought in this cavern, against a dark beast that had once - and still might - dwell here. No one knows where he disappeared to, but there are rumours...
talk to the mask bitch: 1350 why? because someone told me to. when? about two years ago when i was four or five. where? someplace in the ninth level of hell. how? i ran. to what extent? for miles on end. everything is not as it seems now. life has taken a path that is not worth taking. i have no purpose. no being to be. i am no longer myself named for the wind that runs through the plains of my previous home. i am bane. a nuisance for all of my kind. its a shame that now im the only one of my kind. when the earth tips beneath your very own feet and dumps you off into some hell-forsaken pit youll have the comfort and glee in knowing that it was i who placed your name on the guest list. youre welcome. can you tell me something? anything? good. why are you here? oh- you dont know? then how are you supposed to live? if you do not know who you are nor what you are or how you got here or why you are here... then how? but this is another question you cannot answer. and the reasoning behind this is extremely simple. we are unique. each of us was placed upon the earth to do something worth considering. but we are also ignorant. we do not wish to see anything in the light of good which the person beside you works so hard to put together. we only choose to see the bad- the dark around the one shaft of light. you and i are the same. yes oh yes. however i know what it is like to discover the light and escape the darkness. i can teach you if youd like. but you do not have the will to be taught! how joyful. and that is why you too... are going to the pit of hell of which i found enlightenment in. good luck. he is covered. covered in the stench of death. covered in the look of evil. striking eyes glare back from a dark cloak with crimson tints to it on the softest parts of his body. the untrue black is only broken by a deep russet crimson on the swivels of each of his auds as well as on his knee elbow and wrist. the crook of his sensors is defiled by three or four strikes of lightning claw rakes. someone has definitely taken a swing at this champ before. whoever it was left a mighty blow on his appearance. too bad they didnt change his personality. the demon quickens his deadly pace and its easy to see where his ears have been cut into. some other soul has taken a chomp at the delicate listeners but it is obvious that the pest was the one who won the fight. a hole in the right ear is the most damage done by this fight. do you find him frightening? its best not to judge the book by its cover before you set it back down. open it up. read it. you may find something you like in the musty old pages. the dark slate gray male dances through the trees staying to the shadows for a long enough time that he could be considered just a mere figment of ones imagination. only his eyes- light blue in color to the point that they are almost a light gray with just a tint of ice in them- show the distance between life and death for this wandering soul. solitary confinement is his curse. he does not wish to be with others of his own kind. he has no blood that survives past himself. and therefore he must not exist. he does. he is as much flesh and bone as every single one of us are. if you cut him he will bleed. if you hit him he will bruise. if you speak- he will listen to every word you say. one must be careful of such power they hold over a single soul. it is not wise to keep the power for it will be the end of you. fighting to get to the top can only result in misbalance itself. and love. oh darling love is the worst poison of all. love is nothing but a haze. it shows you what you want to see and then it deceives you. footfalls cup the terra to soften the fall of mass that will create a sound more deadly than the rasp of his breathing. finding the footsteps of another will only lead to either ones funeral. the pest disappears into the darkness without a trace and ends up at a clearing of which will only help to heal the parched throat of his. a hesitation. the gargoyle does not wish to make himself visible in front of other wolves. not quite yet. so the demon spawn stays to the darkness. only when the moon takes her rise in the ozone and the sun falls to its death beyond the horizon line... only then does the menace make his way towards the trickling crystalline fluid. his movements are stealthy. lethal. he walks like a killer. looks like a killer. and although his voice has not been heard quite yet- you can imagine already that he speaks like a murderer as well. but is he really classified as such? the fear lowers his charcoal nape to the ground after reaching the river of light. his tassel stays like a broken war banner behind him. he has no need to move it. there is no one around. there is no true reason for anyone to raise their flag behind them like they own the planet. he knows this. as his pink muscle slithers out of his jowls and into the water below the adult is reminded that his services are of no use to him now. not for two years have they been in use. but he still practices his sacrificing. his wiccan worshipping is kept to his inner mentality. it is not practiced openly for others to see and judge. the tongue laps up a few mouthfuls of water downing the fluid within the time span of but a mere moment in time. never. not once does he close his luminaries. they shine like a lighthouse light searching the ocean for a ship. to warn it of the deadly rocks that lie ahead. muscles are kept tense and readied. the true position of an assassin is visible. the masculine figure finishes satisfying his desire for hydration and turns away from the miniature waterfalls escaping back into the nights darkness. he keeps at a pace that will burn calories and strengthen his leg muscles at the same time and when he reaches his desired destination the ghoul slips inside. the cavern stinks of deadly things. things that have reached the end of their mortal line and things that are on the verge of it. there also things here that sweat out blood instead of perspiration. but all the bane can scent is the overwhelming stench of desire. he needs to make progress here. in anyway that he possibly can. and so he waits for an unsuspecting victim to step into the web of disaster. bred by killers. conceived by killers. born to be a killer. raised to be a killer. this monster here... who is he really? he is not a king. he is not a pauper. he is bane. but the biggest question here is not of what standing he holds. nor of where he came from, why he came, how he came, or how long it took him to come. the question is rather simple. is he... a killer? if you look at an eye of another soul- is it truly their right eye or is it their left eye? if you pronounce something one way and your friend pronounces it another... is it wrong? which way are you looking through the telescope? BANE
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