Undated_Abyss
"Do not question the Anvil."
Is the only thing muttered by the priest, as he takes his stand beside a larger golden door, on the opposite side of the spinning globe. This door is composed of many small slivers of metal, composed in an amplitude of arcs, interestingly enough, those fall within each other, completing a gap in the floor and revealing a sizeable semi-circular room.
The room has 4 golden arcs, large in size, and in the in-between are located weird pannels of glass, purely white with specks of purple populating the background, that move in uncanny parallax as the soldiers thread further into the room. A small river flows on the circunference of the semi-circle, and in the circle in the center stands a golden table standing on 4 golden arc feet, its top seemingly floating.
Behind it is a not so aged man, dressed in adornments of white and gold, his age is not great, but one thing is noticeable, half of his face is gone, replaced by some sort of trapezoidal metal slab that diagonally splits his head almost in half, a sliver of yellow light in the place that should be the eye.
Sit down my dear guests. We have important matters to discuss.
He motions his semi-mechanical arm in an arc manner with the palm of his hand open and facing the cupola that apexes the ceiling. To which the ground itself answers generating chairs from some circular slits found in the ground pattern, that blended in so well it was nigh-imperceptible to the eye.
A sense of calm feels the soldiers, between the small noises of the spinning glove and the running water, and the endless hum of machinery and the vibrations of the core, they feel right at home, they feel at peace, an almost surreal feeling filling the room, a white and golden aura that reflects the place that they are in right now, certainly enough to meddle with their minds in a minute manner, though not enough to be perceptable to someone that is not the wiser when the topic comes to the... lets say, interesting effects of The Anvil.
