09-14-2012, 02:32 AM
Francis Harman held up the tome and flipped open to the very last page. His companions gathered around him in a circle as they awaited his next move, though William and David stayed a noticeable distance away from him. Henry, however, the most loyal servant of the castle owner, remained very close to Francis. He clung steadily upon his master's arms as they prepared for the upcoming ritual.
The four of them stood within the Sacrificial chamber, the deepest and most hallowed room of the castle. Torches burning with a magical green light hung upon the walls; the stone ceiling, withered and cracked by time, was located an enormous height above their heads. At the center of the room was the altar, a podium upon which a mysterious pentagram of rituals had been inscribed. Francis stood now at the center of this altar, the tome of the Gray Curse held up high above his head in his right hand. He was preparing to speak the words that would begin their forbidden spell, and which would doubtlessly determine the destiny of the fateful four.
There was a quaint silence as they awaited Francis' commands. Within the room was a mysterious emptiness of noise, and not even the flickering flames of the torches could be heard. The creaks and groans of the castle which had been present all throughout the walls of its deeper regions had vanished as well. It was as if the very structure of the place seemed to have become frozen in time. No longer did the stones breath their sighs of age; now the walls and the pillars ceased their ancient mutters of ruin, their only task now to listen in upon the words that were soon to be spoken, the words that summoned forth the forgotten magic of the universe. The gray curse was about to come alive again, and with it, the unspeakable origins of its demonic conjuration.
"Get ready for the summoning," black-haired William spoke to his most trusted friend David. The other man had, like Harman, light blond hair and bright blue eyes. "We better get ready."
The men turned their sights, for just a moment, upon Henry, a smaller man with long brown hair who still clung steadily to his master. They looked upon him with contempt, thinking Henry a naive and unthinking fool that obeyed Francis without question. He was, indeed, quite submissive to his master. All throughout their journey Henry had stayed right by his master's side, and no doubt he also looked back upon them - that is, William and David - with much distrust. The trip had clearly roused suspicions amongst the four, and now they had gathered into pairings, each ready to strike were a betrayal about to occur.
Francis, however, did not seem to catch on to any signs of mutiny amongst his servants, and he slowly closed his eyes to prepare himself for the rituals that were to come. The spell would no doubt drain a lot of energy out of him; just thinking about what he had to do was already beginning to take its toll. He felt a tug on his forearm and heard Henry's voice urging him to continue. Francis did not respond and allowed his eyes to remain closed. He let his mind gain focus and also release, at the same time, his troubling thoughts and worries; it was a mental sort of meditation that permitted him to gather up all of his psychological strength and vitality. He could not let any disruptions, least of all the ruinous dagger of uncertainty known as doubt, destroy his concentration when the time came that it would matter the most. To perform the ritual of the gray curse correctly, he needed as much confidence as he could muster.
"Francis," Henry whispered while rubbing his delicate fingers over his master's forearm, "let us begin."
"Alright, we shall," Francis responded. He noticed a slight flinched of movement amongst his other two servants, William and David, as if they were disturbed by something. He ignored it and turned his attention towards the words inscribed upon the last page of the tome.
"A dark magic we will bring forth," Francis began in his clearest and most commanding voice, "And those in the past that have summoned it were met with only pain and anguish. Unable to conquer the depraved influence of the gray curse, they allowed it to devour their minds, and became henceforth warped creatures of an unspeakable appearance and savagery."
All in the room knew what he was talking about. The four had encountered, during their journey through the Old Way into the deeper parts of the castle, very brutal and horrifyingly disfigured creatures. One had a massive jaw that hung all the way down to its chest; the other bore a split face and a sword-arm shaped like a scythe.
But it is called the gray curse because it is neither good nor evil, David thought as he listened to his master's words. If one can overcome the "evil" part of the spell, then what remains is the "good": that is, the secret to immortality - the ultimate goal of our journey.
"First, the sacrifice of life's flesh and fluids," Francis declared as he took out a sharp dagger from within his leather coat. "Upon this altar of demonic magics must be shed fragments of our bodies."
William and David immediately became tense. However, Henry, being the most obedient servant that he was, did not seem to even hesitate to do what his master asked. Of course, it was Francis himself that went first, to prove the truthfulness of his words. The master had taken a bottle out from his backpack. Then, in one swift move, he had sliced the palm of his hand with the knife and let a steady stream of blood flow into the bottle.
"Blood is the primary ingredient," Francis continued. "A strand of hair is the next."
"Are you certain?" David asked in a rather contemptuous tone of voice. "Is this truly what the ritual demands?"
Francis gave his servant a rather aggressive stare, and he merely nodded his head. "It is as the tome says. Would you like to read it?"
David nodded. Carefully, he stepped forward onto the altar, keeping a close distance away from his master in case Francis suddenly did something drastic. William, you better have my back, David thought as he approached his master to retrieve the book from Francis' hand. The master seemed to allow his servant to take the tome without objection, perhaps to offer them his trust. David stepped away from Francis and slowly studied the words that had been written on the last few pages.
Indeed, just as Francis had described, the first two ingredients of the sacred ritual to banish the evil half of the gray curse was men's blood and hair.
"You'll believe me now?" Francis asked. Henry appeared eager to be the next offering, so he allowed his master to take his hand. He smiled as Francis touched his arm, wincing only a little as the knife was cut across his palm and blood flowed into the bottle as well.
Grudgingly, David nodded toward William and the two of them offered up their blood as well, each earning a rather unseeing slice of red upon the palms of their hands. Both breathed a sigh of relief as Francis finished, and all four of them had their blood gathered and mixed together within the bottle. Fortunately, the next ingredient proved much easier to acquire. Simply a strand of hair from their heads was cut off with the knife, and soon all of it was put into the bottle as well. They were close to completion; the ritual would be able to end soon.
"What's the last ingredient?" William asked.
At this, Francis suddenly groaned and took a step back from the altar, his fingers still tightly clenched upon the tome's pages. He put the knife back into its sheath upon his coat and grunted fairly audibly.
"We must offer the curse the source of all life," Francis whispered. "It desires creation in order to erase the death that resides within the curse."
"You mean our blood?" David responded. "Haven't we already given you that?" Similarly perplexed looks were upon William's and Henry's faces.
"No - I mean, literally, the source of all life," Francis declared, chuckling a bit. He grabbed at the belt of his pants. "Blood is merely a symbol. I speak of the fluid that creates all humankind."
William and David took a step back, staring at each other in horror.
Once they had finished emptying themselves, the four men gathered back together at the center of the room and stood upon the altar. Contents from one bottle was poured into the other until all three ingredients were mixed together, the life and blood of each coalescing into one complete whole. The ritual was nearing completion. Now, only the spell had to be cast, the words of the gray curse to be declared and summoned.
A vicious shriek suddenly tore its way through the room, the piercing cry of death seething through the walls of the sacrificial chamber and manifesting as a red slime that covered wall, ceiling, and floor like a sea of bloody destruction. The wail of Death was so terrifying that the four nearly fell to the floor; each placed their hands upon their ears to block out the sound, lest they heed its cry and fall ill into the permanent darkness. The gray curse was upon them. The ritual at its completion, an ancient and forbidden terror of the universe about to be summoned into the physical plane once more.
"This is where we fight!" Francis called, and he held up the tome as well as the bottle once more. Death continued to cry, its roar steadily growing louder, and Francis had to close his eyes and grit his teeth in order to resist its cold and painful temptation. He could not let himself fail right now, especially not after all they had been through. He had to complete the ritual, not just for himself, but also for Henry, and also for William and David.
Love could not be ended so vainly.
"It comes!" Francis called, and they turned towards the door.
Death's call. It awaited them, but then turned to follow, eventually pursuing. The last and most powerful ingredient of the ritual, the most essential necessity of the spell to banish the evil side of the gray curse and bring forth its boon: immortality.
Its footsteps were loud and ominous drums, its voice an impossibly depraved and insane wail of anguish that inflicted pure, mind-chilling terror in the hearts of all that listened.
"How is this going to work!?" William asked amidst all the chaos that was sweeping through the room. The red misty light of death continued its march, its pounding shriek a gradual crescendo. Webs of red covered the altar and began to consume the floor beneath their feet.
"Listen, for this is the truth of things!" Francis called and held out his tome. Death was now so close and near that its presence could be felt in the wind, for the destruction brought along a cruel and unstoppable tempest: an icy hurricane that swept firmly through the room and made the stone walls crack. This, added to the piercing wail as well as the monstrous trails of red that embodied death's presence, made the four seem like little rag dolls that stood powerless, and yet somehow still holding on at the center of the room, surrounded by an ocean of unthinkable carnage.
Francis read straight off the last words of the book. "For the cursed ones, unable to defeat the evil of the curse, walk forevermore upon this plane in forms of savage darkness; to call upon death, slay one dear to life; to summon the cursed, banish death forever."
"What does that mean!?" David demanded. The webs of red continued piling up on the floor, now rising up towards their knees. Each began to cry in pain as Death initiated its slow consumption of their bodies, the ascent of the blood-slime like an icy and skeletal hand beginning to acquire a firm grip upon their beating hearts.
"Look!" Francis called, and death's vision manifested before their very eyes:
~
On 27th of February 1830, I was a farmer in Hastings. My wife and I lived in this nice farmhouse we had in the woods of the large forest near our farmlands.
During this one night I woke up to the sound of my wife crying. It took me a little time to realize the voices I heard were not from the nightmares I had.
I heard her crying from downstairs. I went there to take a look...
A scream.
And so I ran away. I was scared.
At that point I knew that my life would from now on change in a way it had never been before.
As I no longer heard the beast's voice behind me I saw the Old Harman's Castle in front of me.
~
"It had killed," Francis whispered through all the destruction manifesting around them. "We have been waiting for this very moment. So sorry towards the dear fellow's wife..."
Its demonic moan was heard by all in the room, and its footsteps, sounding like the clanking of metal, approached closer.
"When a cursed one slays an uncursed life - that of a normal being - then that life will become followed by Death," Francis continued. "Death accompanies that life wherever it goes. And now it wanders deeper and deeper into our castle."
To banish the evil of the gray curse, let Death step into the ritual circle summoning it!
A man charged into the room; a split-faced, sword-armed creature was in hot pursuit behind him. At first the man gasped as he saw the sight that lay before him: the pure and insane destruction of Death as it manifested within the sacrificial chamber.
"Come here, quick!" Francis called to the protagonist of this story.
And so the man dashed towards the altar where the summoning ritual was taking place, the Brute following immediately after him. As soon as the creature stepped into the circle a blinding flash of light suddenly ripped out of its body and burst throughout the room, flooding everything in such brightness that all fell to the floor and became completely unable to see. Death had met its end. The gray curse became fully summoned as the ritual came to its completion; the circle upon the altar disappeared, as did all the ingredients that had brought it to form. All the webs of red disintegrated, and the icy tempest as well as the piercing roar also completely vanished.
When they came to, each bore the mark of the gray curse, invisible, within their bodies. They had defeated its evil side; only "good" remained. Now they were immortal.
"What just happened?" The farmer asked as he returned to his feet. He looked, surprised, upon the faces of the men who he saw visions of as he made his way throughout the castle.
"Look, I know we've got a lot of explaining to do," Francis said while his servants followed silently behind him, "But it'll all work out in the end now. You're immortal now."
A perplexed look remained upon the farmer's face.
"But at least it's a happy ending. Not what you'd expect from a custom story like this, EH?" As one of the walls in the room suddenly collapsed, and there came a demand from the audience for a real chapter three.
The four of them stood within the Sacrificial chamber, the deepest and most hallowed room of the castle. Torches burning with a magical green light hung upon the walls; the stone ceiling, withered and cracked by time, was located an enormous height above their heads. At the center of the room was the altar, a podium upon which a mysterious pentagram of rituals had been inscribed. Francis stood now at the center of this altar, the tome of the Gray Curse held up high above his head in his right hand. He was preparing to speak the words that would begin their forbidden spell, and which would doubtlessly determine the destiny of the fateful four.
There was a quaint silence as they awaited Francis' commands. Within the room was a mysterious emptiness of noise, and not even the flickering flames of the torches could be heard. The creaks and groans of the castle which had been present all throughout the walls of its deeper regions had vanished as well. It was as if the very structure of the place seemed to have become frozen in time. No longer did the stones breath their sighs of age; now the walls and the pillars ceased their ancient mutters of ruin, their only task now to listen in upon the words that were soon to be spoken, the words that summoned forth the forgotten magic of the universe. The gray curse was about to come alive again, and with it, the unspeakable origins of its demonic conjuration.
"Get ready for the summoning," black-haired William spoke to his most trusted friend David. The other man had, like Harman, light blond hair and bright blue eyes. "We better get ready."
The men turned their sights, for just a moment, upon Henry, a smaller man with long brown hair who still clung steadily to his master. They looked upon him with contempt, thinking Henry a naive and unthinking fool that obeyed Francis without question. He was, indeed, quite submissive to his master. All throughout their journey Henry had stayed right by his master's side, and no doubt he also looked back upon them - that is, William and David - with much distrust. The trip had clearly roused suspicions amongst the four, and now they had gathered into pairings, each ready to strike were a betrayal about to occur.
Francis, however, did not seem to catch on to any signs of mutiny amongst his servants, and he slowly closed his eyes to prepare himself for the rituals that were to come. The spell would no doubt drain a lot of energy out of him; just thinking about what he had to do was already beginning to take its toll. He felt a tug on his forearm and heard Henry's voice urging him to continue. Francis did not respond and allowed his eyes to remain closed. He let his mind gain focus and also release, at the same time, his troubling thoughts and worries; it was a mental sort of meditation that permitted him to gather up all of his psychological strength and vitality. He could not let any disruptions, least of all the ruinous dagger of uncertainty known as doubt, destroy his concentration when the time came that it would matter the most. To perform the ritual of the gray curse correctly, he needed as much confidence as he could muster.
"Francis," Henry whispered while rubbing his delicate fingers over his master's forearm, "let us begin."
"Alright, we shall," Francis responded. He noticed a slight flinched of movement amongst his other two servants, William and David, as if they were disturbed by something. He ignored it and turned his attention towards the words inscribed upon the last page of the tome.
"A dark magic we will bring forth," Francis began in his clearest and most commanding voice, "And those in the past that have summoned it were met with only pain and anguish. Unable to conquer the depraved influence of the gray curse, they allowed it to devour their minds, and became henceforth warped creatures of an unspeakable appearance and savagery."
All in the room knew what he was talking about. The four had encountered, during their journey through the Old Way into the deeper parts of the castle, very brutal and horrifyingly disfigured creatures. One had a massive jaw that hung all the way down to its chest; the other bore a split face and a sword-arm shaped like a scythe.
But it is called the gray curse because it is neither good nor evil, David thought as he listened to his master's words. If one can overcome the "evil" part of the spell, then what remains is the "good": that is, the secret to immortality - the ultimate goal of our journey.
"First, the sacrifice of life's flesh and fluids," Francis declared as he took out a sharp dagger from within his leather coat. "Upon this altar of demonic magics must be shed fragments of our bodies."
William and David immediately became tense. However, Henry, being the most obedient servant that he was, did not seem to even hesitate to do what his master asked. Of course, it was Francis himself that went first, to prove the truthfulness of his words. The master had taken a bottle out from his backpack. Then, in one swift move, he had sliced the palm of his hand with the knife and let a steady stream of blood flow into the bottle.
"Blood is the primary ingredient," Francis continued. "A strand of hair is the next."
"Are you certain?" David asked in a rather contemptuous tone of voice. "Is this truly what the ritual demands?"
Francis gave his servant a rather aggressive stare, and he merely nodded his head. "It is as the tome says. Would you like to read it?"
David nodded. Carefully, he stepped forward onto the altar, keeping a close distance away from his master in case Francis suddenly did something drastic. William, you better have my back, David thought as he approached his master to retrieve the book from Francis' hand. The master seemed to allow his servant to take the tome without objection, perhaps to offer them his trust. David stepped away from Francis and slowly studied the words that had been written on the last few pages.
Indeed, just as Francis had described, the first two ingredients of the sacred ritual to banish the evil half of the gray curse was men's blood and hair.
"You'll believe me now?" Francis asked. Henry appeared eager to be the next offering, so he allowed his master to take his hand. He smiled as Francis touched his arm, wincing only a little as the knife was cut across his palm and blood flowed into the bottle as well.
Grudgingly, David nodded toward William and the two of them offered up their blood as well, each earning a rather unseeing slice of red upon the palms of their hands. Both breathed a sigh of relief as Francis finished, and all four of them had their blood gathered and mixed together within the bottle. Fortunately, the next ingredient proved much easier to acquire. Simply a strand of hair from their heads was cut off with the knife, and soon all of it was put into the bottle as well. They were close to completion; the ritual would be able to end soon.
"What's the last ingredient?" William asked.
At this, Francis suddenly groaned and took a step back from the altar, his fingers still tightly clenched upon the tome's pages. He put the knife back into its sheath upon his coat and grunted fairly audibly.
"We must offer the curse the source of all life," Francis whispered. "It desires creation in order to erase the death that resides within the curse."
"You mean our blood?" David responded. "Haven't we already given you that?" Similarly perplexed looks were upon William's and Henry's faces.
"No - I mean, literally, the source of all life," Francis declared, chuckling a bit. He grabbed at the belt of his pants. "Blood is merely a symbol. I speak of the fluid that creates all humankind."
William and David took a step back, staring at each other in horror.
Spoiler below!
Francis had always thought Henry to be the favourite of his three servants. Neither David nor William had ever been quite as obedient or submissive, but it wasn't just that. Henry seemed to know and understand him; there had been a more-than-just-friends tension between them from the very beginning. Over the years at the castle they had become very close. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, when Francis could not sleep and tossed and turned in his bed (he also had no wife), he would go down into the storage and call Henry, of all his servants, up into his sleeping quarters.
During those nights they did not go farther than simple conversations and the occasional hug with each other, but Francis enjoyed every moment of it. He was becoming old - approaching middle age - and needed to spend his days closely with someone, to break away from the loneliness and to achieve a stable and lasting friendship. He began feeling a strong romantic affection towards Henry as they shared their thoughts and worries, and soon it became devotion. Henry returned all of his feelings, and they had kept it their own little secret for the longest time.
"How long...how long have the two of you known about this!?" William demanded.
"I suppose I should've told you earlier," Francis answered. "Maybe then the two of you wouldn't have been so suspicious. But I didn't think you were ready."
David crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "This can't be serious," he said flatly.
Henry clung closely upon his master. "Leave if you two want," he suddenly declared. "Don't interrupt our dear moment."
"Be cautious," Francis urged towards his lover. "Remember, all the ingredients need to go in the bottle. That means we need to get it right on our first time, or we're going to have to wait several hours."
David and William immediately turned away from the horror that was revealed before them and departed to the farthest corner of the room.
"Don't even think we're going to partake in this," William shouted back angrily. "Shame upon the two of you! Disgusting. We're leaving!"
They were now at the door. However, neither refused to put their hands upon the knob to take them out of the room.
"You know," William whispered very quietly to David as he took out another bottle from within his jacket-pockets, "I've actually always wanted to try."
"With another man!?" A red flush came upon David's face, and he bit his lips. Slowly the two of them moved away from the door, though they kept very close to each other to make sure that Henry and Francis couldn't see them. The shame and embarrassment, if they were caught admitting themselves to their guilty pleasures, would be the end of them.
"It's not right, is it?" William asked in a panicked whisper, though now that he had revealed it quite openly, he knew that it was too late to turn back. David looked extremely interested.
"I don't know," David replied. They now stood at a corner of the room, and the two men squatted to the floor. For a few seconds they stared shyly at each other.
"Well, I don't think it's wrong," William said as he put a reassuring arm upon David's shoulder. "I've really been...well, thinking about you for the longest time."
"Really, you have?" A sweet smile appeared on David's face.
The two men embraced. "David..." William whispered as he leaned in very close towards his dearest friend. "Don't hide your true feelings from me."
Despite what their master believed, William and David actually knew exactly what was going on each night that Henry mysteriously disappeared into Francis' sleeping quarters. They had taken advantage of that time to also bond with each other, though they were much more reserved. The two had simply talked with each other, going no farther than a hug either. Yet over the years something must have happened, and they knew, after a while, that this friendship was meant to be.
"There is nothing 'wrong' with love," William urged.
David turned towards the bottle. "Then we'll do it?" He asked. "We'll complete the ritual?"
William nodded.
During those nights they did not go farther than simple conversations and the occasional hug with each other, but Francis enjoyed every moment of it. He was becoming old - approaching middle age - and needed to spend his days closely with someone, to break away from the loneliness and to achieve a stable and lasting friendship. He began feeling a strong romantic affection towards Henry as they shared their thoughts and worries, and soon it became devotion. Henry returned all of his feelings, and they had kept it their own little secret for the longest time.
"How long...how long have the two of you known about this!?" William demanded.
"I suppose I should've told you earlier," Francis answered. "Maybe then the two of you wouldn't have been so suspicious. But I didn't think you were ready."
David crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "This can't be serious," he said flatly.
Henry clung closely upon his master. "Leave if you two want," he suddenly declared. "Don't interrupt our dear moment."
"Be cautious," Francis urged towards his lover. "Remember, all the ingredients need to go in the bottle. That means we need to get it right on our first time, or we're going to have to wait several hours."
David and William immediately turned away from the horror that was revealed before them and departed to the farthest corner of the room.
"Don't even think we're going to partake in this," William shouted back angrily. "Shame upon the two of you! Disgusting. We're leaving!"
They were now at the door. However, neither refused to put their hands upon the knob to take them out of the room.
"You know," William whispered very quietly to David as he took out another bottle from within his jacket-pockets, "I've actually always wanted to try."
"With another man!?" A red flush came upon David's face, and he bit his lips. Slowly the two of them moved away from the door, though they kept very close to each other to make sure that Henry and Francis couldn't see them. The shame and embarrassment, if they were caught admitting themselves to their guilty pleasures, would be the end of them.
"It's not right, is it?" William asked in a panicked whisper, though now that he had revealed it quite openly, he knew that it was too late to turn back. David looked extremely interested.
"I don't know," David replied. They now stood at a corner of the room, and the two men squatted to the floor. For a few seconds they stared shyly at each other.
"Well, I don't think it's wrong," William said as he put a reassuring arm upon David's shoulder. "I've really been...well, thinking about you for the longest time."
"Really, you have?" A sweet smile appeared on David's face.
The two men embraced. "David..." William whispered as he leaned in very close towards his dearest friend. "Don't hide your true feelings from me."
Despite what their master believed, William and David actually knew exactly what was going on each night that Henry mysteriously disappeared into Francis' sleeping quarters. They had taken advantage of that time to also bond with each other, though they were much more reserved. The two had simply talked with each other, going no farther than a hug either. Yet over the years something must have happened, and they knew, after a while, that this friendship was meant to be.
"There is nothing 'wrong' with love," William urged.
David turned towards the bottle. "Then we'll do it?" He asked. "We'll complete the ritual?"
William nodded.
Once they had finished emptying themselves, the four men gathered back together at the center of the room and stood upon the altar. Contents from one bottle was poured into the other until all three ingredients were mixed together, the life and blood of each coalescing into one complete whole. The ritual was nearing completion. Now, only the spell had to be cast, the words of the gray curse to be declared and summoned.
A vicious shriek suddenly tore its way through the room, the piercing cry of death seething through the walls of the sacrificial chamber and manifesting as a red slime that covered wall, ceiling, and floor like a sea of bloody destruction. The wail of Death was so terrifying that the four nearly fell to the floor; each placed their hands upon their ears to block out the sound, lest they heed its cry and fall ill into the permanent darkness. The gray curse was upon them. The ritual at its completion, an ancient and forbidden terror of the universe about to be summoned into the physical plane once more.
"This is where we fight!" Francis called, and he held up the tome as well as the bottle once more. Death continued to cry, its roar steadily growing louder, and Francis had to close his eyes and grit his teeth in order to resist its cold and painful temptation. He could not let himself fail right now, especially not after all they had been through. He had to complete the ritual, not just for himself, but also for Henry, and also for William and David.
Love could not be ended so vainly.
"It comes!" Francis called, and they turned towards the door.
Death's call. It awaited them, but then turned to follow, eventually pursuing. The last and most powerful ingredient of the ritual, the most essential necessity of the spell to banish the evil side of the gray curse and bring forth its boon: immortality.
Its footsteps were loud and ominous drums, its voice an impossibly depraved and insane wail of anguish that inflicted pure, mind-chilling terror in the hearts of all that listened.
"How is this going to work!?" William asked amidst all the chaos that was sweeping through the room. The red misty light of death continued its march, its pounding shriek a gradual crescendo. Webs of red covered the altar and began to consume the floor beneath their feet.
"Listen, for this is the truth of things!" Francis called and held out his tome. Death was now so close and near that its presence could be felt in the wind, for the destruction brought along a cruel and unstoppable tempest: an icy hurricane that swept firmly through the room and made the stone walls crack. This, added to the piercing wail as well as the monstrous trails of red that embodied death's presence, made the four seem like little rag dolls that stood powerless, and yet somehow still holding on at the center of the room, surrounded by an ocean of unthinkable carnage.
Francis read straight off the last words of the book. "For the cursed ones, unable to defeat the evil of the curse, walk forevermore upon this plane in forms of savage darkness; to call upon death, slay one dear to life; to summon the cursed, banish death forever."
"What does that mean!?" David demanded. The webs of red continued piling up on the floor, now rising up towards their knees. Each began to cry in pain as Death initiated its slow consumption of their bodies, the ascent of the blood-slime like an icy and skeletal hand beginning to acquire a firm grip upon their beating hearts.
"Look!" Francis called, and death's vision manifested before their very eyes:
~
On 27th of February 1830, I was a farmer in Hastings. My wife and I lived in this nice farmhouse we had in the woods of the large forest near our farmlands.
During this one night I woke up to the sound of my wife crying. It took me a little time to realize the voices I heard were not from the nightmares I had.
I heard her crying from downstairs. I went there to take a look...
A scream.
And so I ran away. I was scared.
At that point I knew that my life would from now on change in a way it had never been before.
As I no longer heard the beast's voice behind me I saw the Old Harman's Castle in front of me.
~
"It had killed," Francis whispered through all the destruction manifesting around them. "We have been waiting for this very moment. So sorry towards the dear fellow's wife..."
Its demonic moan was heard by all in the room, and its footsteps, sounding like the clanking of metal, approached closer.
"When a cursed one slays an uncursed life - that of a normal being - then that life will become followed by Death," Francis continued. "Death accompanies that life wherever it goes. And now it wanders deeper and deeper into our castle."
To banish the evil of the gray curse, let Death step into the ritual circle summoning it!
A man charged into the room; a split-faced, sword-armed creature was in hot pursuit behind him. At first the man gasped as he saw the sight that lay before him: the pure and insane destruction of Death as it manifested within the sacrificial chamber.
"Come here, quick!" Francis called to the protagonist of this story.
And so the man dashed towards the altar where the summoning ritual was taking place, the Brute following immediately after him. As soon as the creature stepped into the circle a blinding flash of light suddenly ripped out of its body and burst throughout the room, flooding everything in such brightness that all fell to the floor and became completely unable to see. Death had met its end. The gray curse became fully summoned as the ritual came to its completion; the circle upon the altar disappeared, as did all the ingredients that had brought it to form. All the webs of red disintegrated, and the icy tempest as well as the piercing roar also completely vanished.
When they came to, each bore the mark of the gray curse, invisible, within their bodies. They had defeated its evil side; only "good" remained. Now they were immortal.
"What just happened?" The farmer asked as he returned to his feet. He looked, surprised, upon the faces of the men who he saw visions of as he made his way throughout the castle.
"Look, I know we've got a lot of explaining to do," Francis said while his servants followed silently behind him, "But it'll all work out in the end now. You're immortal now."
A perplexed look remained upon the farmer's face.
"But at least it's a happy ending. Not what you'd expect from a custom story like this, EH?" As one of the walls in the room suddenly collapsed, and there came a demand from the audience for a real chapter three.