The stone starts abruptly. The viewer find themselves in a dark, gloomy store of marble and stone. There are no windows, and the light comes instead from a ghostly glow in the air. Â The floor has a spiral pattern of tiles, covered in a faint layer of dust and ash. The store owner, a grey Arcanoloth dressed in crimson silk and wearing a long Fu Manchu that reached down to the floor, was staring expectantly at the viewer, asking if they are sure to peruse their wares so lightly.
The viewer would realize their hand, a golden claw, is holding a small package carefully wrapped in leathers. There are runes carved in infernal that the viewer can read perfectly well; Distilled Fear Incense. There is a sensation of curiosity and smug self-confidence. They ask in a haughty tone how potent these incenses are. The merchant stands up from the counter and carefully reached to grab another similar package. The Arcanoloth explains the viewer that this is a dangerous substance, used by mortals and outsiders alike in rites to test themselves to their devilish masters, and to torture their lessers in creative ways. The viewer again feels confidence, and replies that those words are no guarantee.
The passing thought of using the incense as a tool to discipline slaves goes through the viewer’s mind, but it’s promptly interrupted by the Store Owner setting one of the packets ablaze in their hands and hurling it at the floor, right between the viewer's feet where it explodes in a cloud of smoke. The viewer is completely covered in a black smoke, and there’s surprise that their superior senses can’t see through the cloud. It smells of sulfur and rotten plants, and suddenly a spike of vertigo and nausea sends the viewer spiralling down.
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The viewer wakes up someplace completely different. There’s a cold, grey sky spreading in all directions, and the floor is rough, uneven and rocky. Hacking and coughing, they stand up, the leftover dizziness washing away slowly. What place is this? Their ears pick up the distant echoes of thundering metal overhead, and the smell of rust permeates the air. They mutter “Thuldanin†with an annoyed hiss and set out on their way, walking through petrified debris and refuse. How did they arrive here from Gehenna? There’s an uncertain sense of something wrong in their chest, but right now an exit from Acheron was the priority.
They wander the wasteland of detritus, until a large tower comes into view. Perhaps a wizard tower fell into oblivion, or the surface of a derelict cube from the upper layer of Avalas. As the viewer flies closer, however, the ground begins to tremble. A large gust of wind suddenly throws the viewer spiraling upwards as the earth cracks opens with a deep, rumbling groan, and the tower begins to rise steadily from the surrounding debris like a ghost ship surfacing from a sea of stone and forgotten memories. The viewer struggles to regain control, but their magicks suddenly fail and they begin to fall, faster and faster towards the rising tower. As the debris breaks and cracks apart from the rising stone, the viewer realizes it’s not a tower, but a monumental colossus of stone, impressively large and equally ruinous and damaged, it rises to meet the viewer even as it cracks and crumbles under the strain of the earthquake that propels it upwards. The viewer only thinks to protect their head against the impact as their magic fizzles and fails, but suddenly there’s recognition. The Colossus of stone bears a serpentine armor of scales and their hands are backwards, claws covered in rings and runes. The viewer feels something break inside their chest when they realize their own face is that of the forgotten colossus, and suddenly everything stops. The statue continues to crack and break, and slowly begins to sink in the chasm that opened beneath. The viewer screams, commanding it to stop, the magic from their hands coming out in half-coherent beams of lightning and arcane energy. The ground collapses into itself, a whirlwind of dust and stone with the Colossus sinking at the center, slowly vanishing. When the last of the Colossus sinks beneath the dust, everything vanishes away, and the viewer is left in a void.
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Confusion and panic thumbs wildly through their head, the eerie grey of Thuldanin slowly turning into the white infinite of the astral plane. Stranded, the viewer attempts to sail through the astral plane through thought and memory, but if they move at all, there’s no way to know. To them, it feels like a timeless voyage going nowhere, until a distant rock comes into view. Desperate to reach any semblance of civilization and understand what happens, the viewer suddenly speeds onward, their power returning without explanation, and none is asked. The viewer approaches what quickly comes to be identified as a floating rock, silently drifting without aim. A passing thought to the possibility of parlaying with the wayward Githyanki is instantly discarded when they see the landmass is unoccupied, despite its large size. The viewer scoffs and almost immediately turns away to seek elsewhere, but the large drifting mass’ turns in the weightless void and the underside comes to view. And the viewer instantly wish it hadn’t.
Ten heads of stone stare mournfully, some defaced beyond recognition. Muscular arms bearing dented, broken swords laid down in defeat. A large gaping hole in the form of an arrow wound that passes through the centre of the massive dead god, erupting through the other side in the form of a volcano. At its feet a mass grave of petrified creatures, all visibly cowering in the moment of their death, all hauntingly familiar to the viewer, who is suddenly overwhelmed to the point of screams and absolute horror.
Everyone is dead, everything is lost and all is gone.
The viewer curls into a ball, completely broken and crying out unintelligible, desperate prayers. The dead god continues to turn silently it the weightless void, one of its large hands pointing accusingly at them. The viewer feels a cold creep through their body, and realize they too are slowly turning to stone. Part of them wish to die, there is nothing left, and the horror of existence is much too big to confront. They have to die, they must die. Oblivion is the only escape. Yet something else stirs. Denial. A desperate denial that this is the end. It cannot be. This cannot be the way things end. They speak out a single syllabic denial, slowly uncovering their face and wiping the tears, still shaking but struggling against themselves. The statue suddenly moves with terrifying speed, and the hands suddenly reach forward to crush the viewer. Everything turns to black as the dead hands of Ravanna close around them.
The viewer’s vision melts into a dull grey, and everything spirals slowly, like paint running under the rain, until their vision is that of the spiral tiles of the store. The viewer notices they're on the floor, curled and cowering. The Arcanoloth is staring from above, brushing their long mustache and evidently amused. Realization dawns immediately, and the viewer feels both incredible shame, and burning fury at the fiend for what he has done. Maharaja Apharada slowly stands back up and draw their claws, still shaking somewhat but quickly crackling with arcs of lightning. The memory ends with the image of the Arcanoloth's grin only growing bigger.
