Feeding The Seething Flames Of Curiosity

A cracked, scorched ground almost reminiscent of scales stretched out for miles. Scorched shrubs littered the ground sparsely, a reminder of a bygone age, when the land was not blackened with soot or littered with craters, slowly scorching the land further by oozing lava as if pus from a boil.

Stark shadowy structures, blocky and metallic in appearance, cast their shadows over the already dark surroundings, constantly reinforcing the bleakness that eminated from the very "soil" if it could be called that. Even the sky gives little hope, clouds of crimson and a sickly purple glow dominated the horizon, one could barely call it night or day, for the difference was so miniscule in the fiery land of the Searing Gorge.

Not a creature stirred, for little thrived in such a place. The fauna that would usually be expected, even in hostile terrain, was absent, replaced with heat "shimmers" and the sense of both being truly alone and watched simultaneously, for who knows what lurks in burning pools and on ash-stained ledges? The sound of magma bubbling in distant pits and mechanisms screeching, straining to carry out their duties, remained nearly constant. However, against these rather dominating tones, another "din" could be heard, abeit rather less audible.

The repeated clashing of metal, the jingle-jangle of chains and the constant sound of dirt being moved, as something slid along the ground. A small figure dragging a weathered wooden sled by a dark metal chain slowly emerged from behind aforementioned ledges, struggling to heave a bundle that was tied to the sled. Garbed in thick violet robes, completed with a thick hood and face-plate and ornate armor bound into the robes. Silver decorations and sigils dulled by time and dust, covered the vestments, creating a grand contrast to the dull and barren land. A tabard of a somewhat darker and redder hue covered the chest of the gnome. Pale white patterns imitating bones and skulls embellished the cloth, but the most striking thing lay in the center, on the chest. A chalky hammer, a icon of the allegiance the "little one" held, for he was of the Twilight's Hammer cult. Coupled with the armor, which was normally associated with paladins and their ilk, the gnome appeared a mockery of those holy warriors, a perversion suiting to the faith of the Old Gods.

Slowly but surely, the Disciple dragged his sled across the land, bringing whatever cargo it carried with it. Faint wheezes of exertion whistled though the air, but the gnome continued his steady advance, pausing momentarily to catch his breath every so often. Hours passed, exhaustion took it's toll as the sled-dragging slowed to a snail's pace, the heat and heavy armor both tiring the cultist out severely. Finally, after what seemed like an age, the gnome stopped. He leaned forward and observed his surroundings.

Little was different about this spot, other than the ashen tree that emerged from the accursed ground, it's twisted branches leaf-less and as desolate as could be. Slightly ahead of the tree lay a lava-pit, no different than the countless others that marred the landscape. Leaving his sled behind, the Disciple staggered over to the tree and took a closer inspection. Two skulls were mounted on different branches, opposite eachother, grisly trophies endlessly grinning across the landscaped with bleached toothy smiles.

Observing this, the gnome slowly unbuckled his right gauntlet, revealing a scarred and scorched hand, the iconic symbol of a hammer being present yet again on his wrist. Placing the gauntlet down on the dusty floor, he unsheathed a serrated dagger with his left hand and placed it to his ungloved right. Without a sound, he dragged it across his palm, letting a small stream of blood trickle down to the base of the tree. Sheathing the dagger, he held his hand out, letting more and more blood fall to the dusty ground. A minute or so later, he placed his bloodied hand onto the tree momentarily before withdrawing it and tending to his self-inflicted wound, washing the wound with his waterskin and bandaging it firmly, replacing the gauntlet and tapping his plated boot expectantly.

Muttered prayers and hums filled the next thirty minutes, the gnome sat himself upon the ground, avoiding the bloodstain he had created. Suddenly, a cold gust flew past the tree, causing it to creak and sway under the pressure. "WHO DARES CALL UPON ME WITH SUCH A PETTY OFFERING?!" A voice boomed from the left skull, it's empty sockets and mouth glowing a dull orange. "Oh come now, an offering is an offering, let us be at least courteous until it inevitably demands something." A different voice slyly whispered from the right skull, it's mouth creaking open and shut repeatedly and without rhyme or reason. "HAVE IT YOUR WAY FOR THE MOMENT, SPEAK MORTAL AND DO NOT WASTE MY TIME!".

The gnome slowly ascended to his feet and nodded, staggering back over to his sled and plunging a hand into the bundle, taking an ornate-looking box of precious metal and a smaller bundle from inside, taking them over to the tree eagerly. "MORE OFFERINGS? YOUR WELLBEING DEPENDS ON HOW MUCH WORTHIER THESE ARE THAN YOUR PREVIOUS INSULT!" the left skull thundered, followed closely by a smooth reply from it's neighbour, "I do believe we are not quite in the position to threaten anyone, even a squishy mortal, but I digress. Show us what you have there little one." The gnome lifted up the bundle and uncovered it to reveal a teal-coloured chunk of ore, placing it down on the ground. Taking the box and placing it down beside it.

"Teach me how to combine the essences of these." the Disciple stated, bluntly. "DO NOT PRESUME TO ORDER ME MORTA-" "What the fiery-one wishes to convey to you, is that perhaps a greater incentive would be required to motivate us." The right skull interrupted. "Certainly, I have something that might interest you both." the cultist replied, moving back over to the big bundle and unwrapping it to reveal a dark green-skinned she-goblin garbed in a torn white robe, stained with dirt. Her eyes darting around madly in panic, struggling against the bonds that tied her legs and hands together. Muffled screams emitted from beyond a gag-cloth.

The gnome removed the gag-cloth and was immediately bombarded with gibberish quickly alternating between common, orcish and goblin. Seemingly unmoved by the multi-lingual cries for mercy, the Disciple lifted the goblin up with a grunt, staggering over to the lava pit. As he slowly withdrew his dagger again, the screams doubled in volume and frequency. "Please! You don't gotta' do this! Have mercy fella'!" the she-goblin screeched in a common-orcish hybrid.

Placing the dagger against her throat, the gnome paused momentarily and then whispered into her pointy ears in orcish "Go, mercy awaits below." quickly dragging the dagger across, sending a spray of blood through the air, as she fell to the ground the gnome quickly booted her in the side, causing her to roll down into the lava pit. The stench of burning flesh permeated the air as the goblin slowly sank into the molten rock, both the fiery glow of the left skull and the incessant chattering of the right skull increased in strength. "That should be a suitable appeasement for the time being. Now, let us work out a solution that suits all our needs." Brother Lazatoth muttered, keeping his gaze fixated on the goblin he had just sacrificed.