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Description

Once a structure of light and worship, this monument served as a sanctuary for those in need of rest and healing. It was frequented by travellers and religious nomads, as it would only appear to people who were truly in need during explorations and endeavours. There were stories that the structure had been crafted by the gods, as many prominent students of the arcana tried to replicate its power, but always fell short of understanding its complex magic. One mage developed an unhealthy obsession with the monument, but not in the way one would think. Instead of trying to understand the magic around it, or take the power for herself, she viewed it as a sacred temple, directly connected to the gods of old. She called it The Pantheon, a name that became widely popular, as she recruited travellers who were passing through, initiating them into her strange new religion. These worshippers soon began to inhabit The Pantheon long term, setting up prayer grounds and religious sites within the vast monument. Unfortunately, the gods were angered by these new worshippers using it for their own selfish, and materialistic desires. The monuments had never been intended to be used in this way, and the gods were prepared to make sure of it. The events after this point became shrouded in years and mystery. No one who witnessed the events that took place is alive to tell the tale, and the stories that have been passed from mouth to ear have become superfluous and inaccurate. The only thing that is remembered from the times of old is the cacophony of blood curdling screams that emanated from the large structure. Soon after, The Pantheon vanished without a trace. It was lost to the mist of time, and it was beginning to be forgotten. Until a fateful traveller searching a dungeon found himself in grave need of help. The dancing sound of debris skittering across stone walls alerted him to the presence of an enormous structure in a cavern behind him. From an intricately decorated archway stared a wall of rotting flesh and eyes. He gained the courage to draw his eyes from the terrible mass and upwards towards the runes carved into the surface of the marble. As he squinted at the strange language, the letters began to rearrange themselves into something he understood perfectly. It read: The Panopticon of the Damned.

Story by FM Toasty: www.artstation.com/fmtoasty

Description

Once a structure of light and worship, this monument served as a sanctuary for those in need of rest and healing. It was frequented by travellers and religious nomads, as it would only appear to people who were truly in need during explorations and endeavours. There were stories that the structure had been crafted by the gods, as many prominent students of the arcana tried to replicate its power, but always fell short of understanding its complex magic. One mage developed an unhealthy obsession with the monument, but not in the way one would think. Instead of trying to understand the magic around it, or take the power for herself, she viewed it as a sacred temple, directly connected to the gods of old. She called it The Pantheon, a name that became widely popular, as she recruited travellers who were passing through, initiating them into her strange new religion. These worshippers soon began to inhabit The Pantheon long term, setting up prayer grounds and religious sites within the vast monument. Unfortunately, the gods were angered by these new worshippers using it for their own selfish, and materialistic desires. The monuments had never been intended to be used in this way, and the gods were prepared to make sure of it. The events after this point became shrouded in years and mystery. No one who witnessed the events that took place is alive to tell the tale, and the stories that have been passed from mouth to ear have become superfluous and inaccurate. The only thing that is remembered from the times of old is the cacophony of blood curdling screams that emanated from the large structure. Soon after, The Pantheon vanished without a trace. It was lost to the mist of time, and it was beginning to be forgotten. Until a fateful traveller searching a dungeon found himself in grave need of help. The dancing sound of debris skittering across stone walls alerted him to the presence of an enormous structure in a cavern behind him. From an intricately decorated archway stared a wall of rotting flesh and eyes. He gained the courage to draw his eyes from the terrible mass and upwards towards the runes carved into the surface of the marble. As he squinted at the strange language, the letters began to rearrange themselves into something he understood perfectly. It read: The Panopticon of the Damned.

Story by FM Toasty: www.artstation.com/fmtoasty