The Betrayal Of Vorador: AS english creative writing; horror genre. Got A

Essay by malone2003 November 2004

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The fire-light dipped as Sanctus lost his footing on the slimy surface of the granite and fell two stairs. With a reflex of lightning his free hand reached out behind him and stopped his body from plummeting further into the darkness. He stood up and brushed pieces of the dank moss that covered the stone from his ragged clothing, accompanied by the clinking of various archaic symbols and chevrons that were hung about his person. He raised the torch to eye level and in the depths of his hood dark eyes scanned the spiralled stairwell. Cobwebs hung all around him clinging to his every movement as if trying to halt his progress. A sudden thought struck him, how could the creature he was hunting possibly go in and out of the crypt without disturbing such fragile constructions? Perhaps it was just another one of its many powers. He continued his descent; watching the dark demons dance upon the walls to the melody of his illumination.

As the stairs stopped and the light spread out before him Sanctus knew he had entered it's resting place. Undeterred he penetrated the deathly cold air and stepped into the tomb. His boots sunk into the ground. Surprised, he crouched on his haunches and waved away the layer of white mist that stretched out beyond the darkness. Under the gaze of Sanctus's torch droplets of water sparkled in the moist, dark soil. As the white fingers curled out once again, reclaiming the ground at his feet, realisation struck him. That was how it regenerated; it needed to lay in the womb of it's evil homeland to recover it's supernatural energies. Squinting in the darkness Sanctus began to sidle noiselessly against the wall, wildly searching for any sign of movement in the shadows.

After a...