A Journey to an Oasis, A Forgotten Temple Uncovered

For Every End, A Beginning
En-route through the deserts of Zir, the sun placed high in the azure sky, a blazing orb radiating heat and light like an overbearing sentinel. The horizon is a haze, the heat twisting and distorting the images passed the brink. At first there is an ad-hoc path being formed from the parting between, stubborn, brown shrubbery but eventually this fades into open desert, four legged creatures chitter and play over some dunes, their voices carried by the slight breeze that disturbs the sand, kidnapping it from its home and taking these tiny grains with it on its long, everlasting journey.
Heading towards the likely whereabout of your destination you pass through some buildings, ruined and decayed, lost to the ravages of time. They protrude from the sand like fingers trying to claw their way to the surface, certainly not a dense packing of ruins, but enough to fill the surroundings with an atmosphere, one of inevitability, people and places may life upon the surface of the land, but eventually, everything is consumed, returning to it once more. The ruins pass you by, continuing to haunt this area of Zir and make way to ravines and ridges that feel familiar, for you saw and walked through many like this on your way to Ankhet.
An Ambush, A Foe Resurfaced
As you enter another ravine, it’s walls looming high and imposing but granting a welcome reprieve from the unrelenting sun, the shadows cast an ethereal visage, making you all seem taller, longer, thinner, stretching your being to cover more of this sandy expanse. About halfway through the ravine, just where it beings to slope upwards again, the sand and shadows are broken up by three beacons of light, blinding for a moment before the sun retreats behind a cloud, almost as though It has a sense for the dramatic, revealing three red skinned goblinoids, tall and imposing, garbed in heavy bronze armour, equipped with large circular shields and longswords. With a stomp, a clattering of metal and a grunt, they immediately change stance, lowering themselves into a phalanx. A few moments stretch as a *horse noise* is audible from behind you, coming down the slope you had just descended are two hulking individuals, large vicious horns breaking their silhouette and wielding large double-headed axes.
A figure appears 40ft above, garbed in white and red robes that flutter and blow in the breeze, the sun emerging from its hiding place, circling the robed man in a halo, his silhouette blocking out the sun for a moment as the rays try to bleed around him, giving him a transcendent visage. As he begins to move his hand in a series of complicated gestures, your silvered eye, Violet, begins to itch and throb. The one who inflicted your wound, the one who got away. Not this time. His body now a wreck filled with craters from Gilford's eagle-eyed shots.
Making your way through the ravine, leaving behind those that sought to thwart your advance, you continue into the golden sands of Zir, feeling the ground give way underneath your boots as you proceed. You occasionally register the appearance of various wildlife in the distance, all heading south-west. A pack of jackals methodically paw their way across the dunes, lizards of varying size and colour skitter over the landscape, behind and over jutting rocky outcrops and then a silhouette appears on the horizon, shadowed at first but the colour slowly bleeding in as you note that this quadruped, armed with scales that reflect the suns rays and vicious claws makes its way along the dunes, crumbling rocks and derelict architecture beneath its giant frame. Your minds eye is cast backwards to the meeting of Big Bertha, this creature, also a giant lizard of towering mass and size, seems to be heading southwest.
A Tragic Homecoming
Following these creatures, you are eventually led towards a ridge, beyond this ridge, dwelling in a basis, sheltered from the desert and the elements is a luscious oasis. A motley assortment of animals lurks within the basin, beneath the vibrant emerald flora and drinking from a glistening pool that reflects the sunlight. A barefoot humanoid walks amongst them, graceful stride and baring with rounded ears, his long auburn hair tied back with a strip of leather. Garbed in a simple white rob with an ivory quarterstaff, he meanders through the oasis, occasionally petting and conversing with the wildlife present. Sharm, a tragic tale walking of heritage lost and seeking to be uncovered. A tale that will never be told, Gilford's cacophanous shots spraying Sharm's blood all over the alabaster doorway. A doorway etched in celestial -
“The blood of those allowed entry is blessed and only those who dwell within are blessed. We are the beginning and End. We will be renewed, blessed be the Cycle, blessed be Falon’Din.”
An emblem is engraved onto the alabaster stone doors. A white tree, framed by an eclipsing moon with a sickle at its base.
The grand doorway begins to creak and rumble as it drags itself open, moved by an unseen force, the vines snaking up its frame snapping off, whipping through the air before falling lifeless to the ground. Past the doorway is a long corridor comprised of the same alabaster stone, vines snaking their way through the stone slabs and invading the interior. A bioluminescent plant appears periodically throughout the hallway, giving the place a faint cyan hue.
As you enter and take a few steps into the hallway, bootfalls echoing, an apparition of a small elven girl perched upon an invisible chair materialises beside you. “Sssshhhh” she says and puts her finger to her lips as two more apparitions appears further in, one male, the other female clutching a bundle close to her chest. They keep looking over their shoulders as they run towards you, towards the exit. They both stop just before reaching you, gazing at each other for a moment before embracing, the male leaning in to kiss the bundle before he turns back around, to where they were running from, drawing a sword he looks back over his shoulder, towards the female, before charging. There’s the briefest series of movements, as he fights an unseen enemy, before he slumps to the ground. The female, an anguished look upon her spectral face, turns away from the scene and exits through the doors.
A Temple, Wreathed in Tragedy
Uricelma, or Uri for short, watches the spectres before turning her attention to you - “These ghosts are suuuuuper weird, they just keep doing the same things over and over, I wonder If they’re bored yet…”. She leads you to a room, upon entering, you note the sorry state that it is in, furnishings have been overrun by the vines and plants seeping through the stone slabs, cobwebs litter the corners and tables. A group of apparitions appear in front of you, the same spectral colour as those you encountered at the entrance. Huddled together and watching the doorway, scared wide eyes haunting in the gloom. One spectre rises and walks towards the door, pausing for a moment before pulling back on an unseen handle. Eyes widening further before he turns back to face the group. His expression fixed and cold. He rushes the group, several fall with unheard, anguished wails before a familiar male and a female, clutching a bundle, rush by the assailant, through the door and dematerialising as they cross the threshold.
Pressing forward further down the corridor a vision apparates ahead, lighting it with their eerie unearthly glow. An armoured elf stands, slashing and thrusting a longsword as a crowd of people rush past, some dying with their backs turned and fleeing up the hallway, dematerialising as they turn, crossing the threshold of the previous room. The armoured figure calmly and slowly walks after them, sword pointed downwards and to his side. Disappating and leaving you free to explore, you make your way further down the corridor, arriving at another opening. The room you find yourself in can only be described as some sort of chapel. Benches, although decayed and some broken rest in neat rows, facing an alter at the back of the room, the same symbol that was engraved upon the doorway is inlaid on several cobweb laden banners, colours having faded due to the ravages of time. Skeletons rest upon the alabaster flagstones, orderly and compact, centred around the alter as though proximity to their deity’s holy symbol would protect and save them. It did not. Spectres fade through the walls into the chapel, unlike the previous visions, hostile intent in their eyes. The ensuing combat leaves the spirits vanquished, but not before sapping your strength.
Making your way back down the hallway, the vines are less obtrusive and invasive the deeper you go, the stonework seeming sturdier but losing that bioluminescent light that you have enjoyed thus far. Another vision penetrates the blackness, lighting the corridor with its eerie, spectral glow. This is of a mother clutching a small prone form, silently weeping, her face distraught before being struck down by another woman, face fixed and cold, wielding a hammer. The mother’s spectre weeps no more and falls still before dematerialising as the assailant turns to walk up the corridor, fading from view. “I’m sorry, this has been reeeeaally fun! But I have to go now, supper is ready, and mother will throw a fit if I’m late again.” Uri waves as she skips down the hallway, humming, before vision and sound fade into nothing. All that’s left is two skeletal forms, presumably of the mother in the vision and judging by the size of the smaller form, her young daughter.
Corruption's Heart
As the party approaches then end of the hallway, a deep crimson light radiates and illuminates the area. Revealing a large round room with a giant, ash-white tree, barren of leaves, at its centre. Tendrils of that same crimson energy snake over its aged surface. An apparition appears before you, of a robed elder, on his knees at the base of the tree. He stands and turns, facing the group, kindly eyes giving way to scarlet pools, sneering he says “You should run…”.