Atop the mountain peaks he lay. Bathed in the evening glow of the sun Theldrisual faced out from the mountain side, the godbeast’s great chest splayed out as ribs, hundreds of metres long, struck out of the peak, wreathed in snow. The great sword, high as a mountain, that cut deep into the skeleton was dark against the evening sky, not an inch of it catching the sunlight. Death hung in the air, and the only life Vladan could see was the carrion birds that swung about the huge corpse, feeding off the Shyishian magicks that whipped out of the eyes of the huge creature. Dreadhall lay within that great legacy of death, and Dreadhall was where he was bound.
Vladan looked up at the immense doors that stood before them. Theldrisual’s chest wrapped around them as huge lower rib bones created the structure that protected him from the snow and wind. The doorway, if things that large could still be called doors, stood in the middle of the structure. It was a door to nowhere, as one could walk around it. On the side that faced the open ribcage and the mountains beyond, about a metre and half up, three hollowed out slots were found along an icon of Shyish half an arm long. As Vladan drew close his world caught fire. He had come so far. He had hoped that having two of the keys would be sufficient, but he was clearly wrong. Drawing even nearer, the keys on him glowed with power, shooting towards the wall of their own accord. Slamming into the gateway, amethyst light pulsed outwards across the doorway. But it stood shut, as it had for as long as those alive could remember.
He swore. And Mannfred laughed. ‘It’s the end of this line, friend.’