Glimmers of light bounce off the sandstone crypt walls as a small mass of fire dances in Artur's hand. Ancient hieroglyphs line the face of the walls, fractured and worn by time, but they speak of a safe passage to the afterlife and of a great plague that had ravaged Kaine back when flesh and blood still covered his bones, a plague which had swept countless souls through the doors of death. The crypts were a labyrinth of hallways and dead-ends designed to protect the deceased from looters and robbers. None-the-less the necromancer and his cohort had found their way into the burial chambers to rise the once deceased, to what end remained elusive. Nothing was as he remembered, corridors and pathways exist where once there were none. It was nearly overwhelming but as he wandered the halls he discovered a pattern in the hieroglyphs, a repeating arrangement of pictographs imprinted on the corners of every other hallway; a ciphered map of the tomb. The map, curiosity, and memory lead him to the heart of the crypt and through a narrow archway leading to a massive chamber lined with the carved statues of the Kaininite pantheon of gods. The pristine marble tiles on the floor emitted a feint, strange blue glow and above him the ceiling was impossibly black. Or rather there is no ceiling but instead a swirling mass of darkness that heaved and fluctuated like some strange liquid. Artur knew this room, when he had been alive it had been a gateway for the priests of Kaine to travel to other planes of existence. A sacred place meant for the highest acolytes of faith to commune with gods and otherworldly beings. The gateway required a handful of powerful sorcerers to use and even then all who knew the mechanics behind operating such a magical marvel were long since dead, all save him who now walks in undeath. Perhaps using him to open this gate was the intention of the necromancer.
Even here in this most sacred room, warded against the ravages of time, things were different. He could remember seeing the stars and all the heavenly bodies of the celestial kingdoms shine above him, like looking into the night sky. Now there was only a sickly darkness and a sense of fear creeping up his spine. Feint whispers surrounded him and the flame light in his hand whimpered as a protrusion began to buldge from the center of the inky void. The imprint of a massive skull emerged, spanning nearly the entire surface of the room. Its voidless sockets stared into his soul as the mass of darkness lurched slowly forward, stretching the black liquid tightly like an entity trying to break through a thin elastic barrier. It's mouth opened and in a deep tone it bellowed out in a foreign tongue. Its words shook the room and dust fell loose from the walls, he could feel the reverberation in his bones. The whispers which surrounded him grew to a maddening pitch and if he had eardrums by now they would surely be bleeding. Then as quickly as it happened the giant skull receded, the whispers faded, and the black liquid returned to its original form. He could hear his name spoken softly on the other side of the blackness, then all was silent. The air was filled with an eerie stillness and an uneasy feeling that something was still watching from the other side of the sickly liquid. Perhaps it was time to leave.
Othuoy's curiosity to see the unknown had led him to many dangerous places, but perhaps none more dangerous than this. A solo, grand expedition funded by his loyal friend Orla had brought him to a coastal city in Valeal where he had originally intended to travel on horse to Oslo, the capital city. There he had intended to seek entry to the Library of Ages, the grandest collection of knowledge throughout any of the human kingdoms, some say the greatest in any of the mortal empires. While entry is strictly regulated his connection with the noblewoman Lafayette secured him a rite of entry, but during his travel a more intriguing journey crossed his path. He met a loony captain, a madman daring to sail through the Sea of Storms to the House of the Fallen God. An Island far off the coastal shores surrounded by an ever-churning storm. Few men have ever dared sail into the maelstrom and even fewer returned. Those few who had told tales of a great jungle, a primative civilization, and a land where magic was stronger than anywhere else in the world. Those who believed in the faith of the Brother Gods, Euros and Meros, believed it was the physical location where Euros fell to the Earth and his impact caused such a quake that now the nearby seas are ever restless, still swirling from the god's impact. Perhaps he underestimated the tales of danger or just allowed curiosity to overrule judgment, because soon after he had sought passage on this mad man's vessel. Now he found himself on this great voyage. Maybe he had also overestimated his ability to hide in plain sight, for it wasn't long into the journey that his true identity as a gargoyle was discovered. At first, the crew was intent on throwing him overboard but Othuoy managed to talk his way out and convince them that whatever threats they may face on the mythical island would surely be more favorable to them if they had a gargoyle in their ranks, begrudgingly they agreed.
Now, four weeks into the voyage the Sea of Storms was in sight. The horizon was dark, blacker than any storm he had seen in his life. Cracks of lightning shot down and struck the water and the wind began to grow to such a frenzy you had to shout to speak. The waves grew in such height and ferocity he thought surely they could not possibly get higher, but as each wave wrecked itself against the bow of the ship in a furious attempt to capsize the vessel, the succeeding wave was even larger still. The sternman struggled to keep the ship straight and in one slipup it nearly cost everyone their lives. The ship turned to expose it's side to a coming wave, and when the wave swept the ship up it slowly began to flip the craft over as the crew fought for their lives to keep the ship from overturning. The deck was titled to an incredibly steep angle and a rope harness which had tied Othuoy to the ship kept him safe, but a few other of the crew were not so lucky. One man's harness had come undone and as the ship rocked he shrieked and slid across the deck knocking into another man and sending them both crashing through the rails. In an explosion of splintered wood they both went overboard. One of the men still had a rope connecting him to the boat and it snapped tight as he went into the water, now being dragged through the ocean. Against all odds, the captain managed to straighten the vessel then barked out to his crew "Pull him up!"
A few men scampered over to the rope and began trying to hoist the man back on board, but as they pulled something pulled back in an unexpected yank, nearly taking another man overboard. The rope was ripped from their hands and the rail it was tied to was torn off and went flying into the waves. For a moment they stood there dumbfounded by what had happened, but soon the quartermaster was yelling for them to return to their positions. Everyone on board was still in for the fight of their lives. Then the captain let loose a mad cackle. "You see that gargoyle!" He said as he pointed off into the storm and a jagged rock formation lept out from the mist, narrowly avoiding the ship. "We're getting close! I can taste it in the air! If we don't get smashed by the rocks we'll soon be on land!"