Chain

Across Great Landscapes to a Legacy of Blood

This here is some superb USBM carved in the backwoods of the US and varnished with a thick angry buzzing production. 

In a cabin under the fog of a blanked out sun lies a trapdoor. Beneath it a dimly lit hallway constructed of cobblestone and plywood stretches deeper and deeper towards other untouched corridors. The hallways narrow the further one goes in the maze of untouched doors. Under the luminance of fire one can point out arcane symbols and writings etched into said doors and in the instance of walking past them a frigid aura exhales from the rotting elm wood. At the end of the hallway there is one door that is unique to all others. It stands tall and skeletal in its ebony wood aegis and as if untouched by time, shows no sign of deterioration. Its stiles are slender and made of jagged rock; curving towards the center of the door. The lock is coated in cobwebs and from the looks of it, hasn't been turned in centures. I take out the key which has been passed down my line of family for generations and with the utmost caution I insert and turn it. The door after all this time of inactivity, spits it's accumulated dust in my face and after a few coughs I pull the heavy door back. There was already a light in the room before I entered, it was so miniscule and spectral that it didn't come from anywhere, it was just...there. And in the middle of the room along of the lines of a pentagram there was one man...Torturer.