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(97) Seryebreniy



The approach to the chamber is black, obsidian black. The only reason you don’t trip on the slick stairs is that the walls seem to give off a faint illumination, as if a phosphorus light has been embedded into the very stone. At the chamber’s bottom is a square surrounded by a moat on all sides—a bridge lies at each end, a stairway in and a stairway out. The liquid in the moat is black.


On a raised dais stands the Grail. It is black, forged from obsidian—forged from a meteorite that fell to earth, fell to earth when the gods fought in the Heavens. On the side is inscribed, etched in bone-white letters, Diligite iustitiam qui iudicatis terram. The Grail is filled with a blue substance—it has a faint thin crisp mist over it. This is the blue Hyperborean blood of Christ—blood is the most powerful magical actuator, and thusly filled the Grail is now a mighty instrument of justice.


As you walk down the stairs—very slowly so as not to slip—the ringing in your ears increases with each step. Yet you could not say that the ringing really comes from without, nor is it within—it is no hallucination, yet it is not outside as we understand it. As you step into the chamber, the sound resolves into a clear cut-glass note—almost enough to bring you to your knees. You pick up the Grail in both hands—somehow that seems appropriate—and carry it before you to the stairs. You glance at the black waters at your side and detect movement within, as if a small eel slides about in the moat. You walk on, you mount the opposite stairs—you will bring the Grail to the world, the world sorely needs it. With care you move up each step, you keep your eye on the blueness as it moves in the cup—it is much more viscous than water, moves in suspended motion.

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