You enter my room...a mistake all but the most courageous, foolhardy, or both, wouldn't dare to commit twice. Upon the sight of a
fresh visitor, I play some music from my personal collection, to set the mood.
My lips curl into a grin that appears...something lesser than well-intentioned, to say the least, as you rather visibly notice the room's most striking feature; your nostrils flare, then nearly collapse to the assault they receive, burned under the overpowering stench of decay. The door closes behind you, of its own accord. That only distracts you temporarily, as the squishing muck under your footsteps draws immediate attention; you seem to be knee-deep in the dead. The crimson of blood painting your toenails through your footwear helps to account for the unholy perfume of the profane arts. Some gristle and liquified, putrefied fat float their way on by. You succumb to the irresistible urge to empty your stomach's contents, in the horror that ensues. After you vomit, you remember to cast panicked eyes about the room, for any signals of danger.
Interesting odds and ends adorn the room. Upon a table, a ritualistic dagger lays, the red sheen indicating its recent use. Decorating the walls are scribed engravings, in a language you certainly don't recognize as familiar. The room's facets are difficult to discern; though a lamp is lit within the chamber, it barely gives off any glow. The essence of the Unlight's vague, shifting silhouette appears to be literally devouring the light from it. Perhaps most unsettling of all, is in squinted vision, you become aware of the presence of a skull mounted on the wall. Sobbing, trembling, and muttering to yourself that this has to be a nightmare, you take tentative steps forward to examine it, with wholly understandable trepidation.
It is an unusually large specimen, as far as skulls go. Strangely enough, however, it strikes you as familiar, somehow. You come to notice that the transcribing on the wall, just beneath it, almost looks to be shifting, but you're not sure if the flickering flames are toying with your vision or not. Perhaps it is your mind being played and preyed upon. Regardless, this text appears to be in English. Getting close enough to read it yields a fascinating result. It says:
The skull of the Forbidden One.The familiarity begins to make sense. Dread grips at your heart, without a single hint of gracefulness to its touch. As if in a daze, you explore the remainder of my room, which seems to stretch before you, into a larger area than the outside of the building would suggest. There also happens to be a cellar. Along the way, you discover many more skulls and other portions of skeletons; some are even complete and intact. They are denoted as "The Envoy," "The Chaos Emperor," "The Monarchs," and a few, assorted others. They serve as effective warnings; indeed, you feel your grasp on sanity loosening, second by accursed second you spend here.
Other sights are unquestionably unsettling, like a skeletal simulacrum formed of ice. It wasn't melting, nor so much as dripping, despite the relative warmth of the room. More chilling than it, however, was the sudden presence at your back. Without turning around, you just
knew. You could feel it. Not wanting to feel the jolting sensation of something grabbing you by the shoulder in the best-case scenario, you turn around to face me.
What's most disturbing is how calm, how serene my smile is, which contrasts rather heavily with the sickening sensation of laying eyes upon my robed figure, and mine laying upon your more casual wear, as if I exuded terror like an aura. The fragrance of death, the blood my feet rest in, the macabre ornaments adorning the room...they don't appear to bother me in the least. You find yourself wondering if I ever feel bothered by anything, with eyes as empty as mine. They bear the eery peace of a man who'd willingly and casually tossed his sanity by the wayside. The lack of empathy for your state of utter shock suggests perhaps a total lack of mercy within me.
My lips move; I open my mouth, but before I can speak, you scream. You make a maddened dash up the stairs of my cellar, bolt toward my door with every ounce of strength and adrenaline that is within you, and slam it behind you with terrified haste. I can't say that I particularly blame you. You trail blood as you flee the premises, but right now, that's the least of your concerns. Though you didn't hear me speak, somehow, you just innately
know that you are welcome to return to my lair, should you ever desire to. Should you throw caution to the wind...
Truly, an Evil Hero had been summoned, to match with the dormitory's namesake. It was unfortunate that they hadn't thought to consider the methods of an Evil Hero, however; the means to an end...