NEWS    Current / Submit    Archive    HELP    Walkthrough    Cheats    Editing    COMMUNITY    Forums    Fan Fiction    Fan Art    Links    FILES    Game Demo    Patch    Editing Tools    Community maps    Movies    Music    Submit    UNDYING    Game Info    Features    Requirements    Screenshots    Characters    Enemies    NPCs    Weapons    Spells    Inventory    Macintosh    Playstation2    FAQ    JERICHO    Game Info    SITE    Site Info    Contact Email Speaking of the Stones: Kiss of Oblivion The following is based on the game Clive Barker's Undying, ©. 2001 Electronic Arts Inc. [O] Chapter 1      Kamen jolted upright in his cot. He panted for a moment gripping his chest in a fit of exasperation. It had been the third time he had experienced this dream. One that eclipsed all others with its madness. He was being upheld within a fiery abyss, and when he glimpsed through the flames he could make out a runic series of spires and columns.      Then it seemed that the immense fires would engulf him, the roars of demons and cries of disembodied souls could be heard inside his tortured skull, and then he would wake up. A sense of macabre unreality would always overtake him then, and even now he was paralyzed in fear. Glimpsing upwards in the semi-darkness and gasping, he saw grimy, slime-slick walls reaching up into an infinite blackness. Home. Giving an elongated sigh of relief, he reached down for his cloak laying in a crumpled pile beside his bed. Pulling the thick black garment tightly around him and the hood fully over his course main of black hair, he strode into the antechamber and then out into poorly lit passage beyond.      He answered the challenge of a Trsanti guard who stood beside the doorway, and grabbed a torch from one of the iron holders in the passage. Taking the corridor to its end, he then turned left to descend a narrow flight of stairs that wound down into a large, cavernous room with nothing in it except an intricately carved altar that was meant to portray his Seeing gift. He stepped towards the altar quickly, almost anxiously. But in his haste he could not help but study its intricately carved form. Its base was made out of pure gold, amassed from his native land in the Southern Continent. In each of the four corners a small crouching statue of Baal, the Ibis-headed deity that supposedly afforded him these visions, reared almost animatedly as the light from the slits above streamed down onto them.      In the altar’s axis was a tall ivory vase filled with murky water and scented with myrrh. Kamen stepped forward and rested his hands on the smooth edges of the vase, his fingers aching in anticipation. This was the moment, the culmination of truth he had been waiting for his entire life. The top tier in his ascension of prophecy. After several moments he reached down and grabbed a small, leather pouch he always kept at the base of the altar, and straightened. Loosening the drawstring, he opened the pouch and grabbed a handful of the rare ‘seeing dust’ and sprinkled it carefully over the divining liquid.      As the water itself began to clear, he instantly recognized the Isle of Standing Stones through the ethereal mist of the Seeing vase. It was night, that much he could discern. Shadowy figures played against the moonlit ground, strained grunts could be heard as the shadows then danced from his view, being replaced by an oblong silhouette that only seemed to lengthen as it was plucked from the hardened soil.      A large thud resonated in his ears, as the thing was seemingly placed on the ground. Shouts of excitement and anxious murmurs came to him. Then the vision shifted and he glimpsed a robed form standing on the rocky coastline of the Isle itself. It was a moment before she turned to face him fully, her coal-black hair tend-riling wildly down past her shoulders. She was a stunning to say the least, her face a myriad of intriguing features; from her ice-blue eyes to her full sensuous lips. A beauty mark on her left cheek however, seemed to be her most distinguishing feature. And then the water itself began to clear, revealing a gaunt face who’s only source of life seemed to emanate from its hard-set, piercing red eyes. As if on queue, the vision of himself was shattered by a droplet of water that had fallen from the ceiling. He gasped. This black omen seemed to herald his own personal destruction.      This fan-fiction story © Gehn 2003.