story.txt

Speaking against the Order did not go unpunished.  And yet you had, because
you knew...  something was rotten at the heart of things.  As a guard in one
of their chapels, you'd observed strangeness, a monk slipping into a hidden
chamber, furtive whispers in the halls, hushed as you drew near, and the
strange writings in the scrolls that were occasionally left open, unawares
that you knew how to read portions of them.  Suspicions turned to fears,
fears to grumbling, and finally to open questioning.

That was how you'd ended up in the torture chamber, subjected to the pains
of torment there as they looked upon you with impassive faces, cold to your
pleas.  And after the worst of the marks were healed, one final torment was
given, the searing brand pressed to your back, leaving a strange mark there,
a mystical mark...  the mark of the Blasphemer.

But when the ordeal was over, the Order seemed strangely content to let you
free.  Dismissing you from your post as one of their holy guard to take up
your profession as a warrior in one of the distant noble's armies.  It was
as if you'd been given a ticket to start over new.  You'd never dared speak
of what passed before, nor let anyone see the strange brand that was
thankfully hidden by clothing, and as time went by, you were almost able to
forget what had happened back then.  Almost.  But there was always the
nagging feeling that something was there, watching, that had never been
there before.  A prickling at the back of the neck.  A shadow flitting at
the corner of your gaze.

Then came the great battle.  Borders were shifting, allegiances changing,
and the lord you served now sent his troops into battle against neighboring
lands, with you among them.  In the midst of the clash of steel and the
screams of pain, a massive warrior in the livery of your enemies appeared
before you, attacking relentlessly as you struggled to keep up with his
assault.  And then, when all seemed lost and his sword-point hovered before
your neck, the mask of his helmet fell away to reveal a ravaged, inhuman
face that seemed to gaze clear through you, seeing your deepest secrets. 
And then you fell, stiffening, to the ground, the sight of the beast
lingering as all went black.

. . .

As if from a troubled sleep you waken in darkness, total and encompassing,
and as you struggle, you feel stone above your head, a slab that gives way
with a strong push to allow faint light to filter down on you.  The air is
rank, putrid almost, and as you rise and inspect your surroundings, you see
that you are in what appears to be a burial chamber.  Your tomb, you realize
with a start, wondering fuzzily how you got here as your eyes scan the
surroundings.  The structure seems ancient, worn as if by centuries. 

Sitting on the floor, as if it had been placed on the stone slab that had
lain over your body and knocked to the floor when you awakened, is a ring. 
A gleaming ring, looking much like something you remembered the monks of the
Order wearing.  On impulse, you slip it on, and a sudden awareness reaches
you from it, as if it had become a part of your body.  With a flex of your
fingers, you send a searing bolt from the jewel set in the ring, smiting a
chip of stone from the ancient walls around you.

And suddenly, you hear a furtive rustling, a slithering in the darkness
beyond what seems to be your burial chamber.  And with a chill, you know
that THEY are out there.  Creatures like you'd read about in the scrolls. 
Creatures like the one you'd seen on the battlefield.  And not only do you
hear their presense...  they sense yours.