As they descend, the song comes rising up to meet him. Them. (Adrasteia is not in his sightline, but does she feel this too? She must.)
By the time they've reached the shrine itself, the melodious, hissing pressure of the Calling is beating like a second heartbeat in his ears.
It's not like the False Calling. It's bigger than that, all-consuming. The unwavering, disquieting rise and fall of it holds Ellis' attention as he moves along the edges of the room, taking in the rift in the center, one hand trailing very carefully against the slick, sharp stone walls. The familiar, eerie presence bears down on him like a physical force, something prying and pulsing in time with the rift in the center of the room. Nearly fifteen years of instinct turns his attention in towards it, steps slowing in his circuit around the rift. This is the same way he'd have turned his thoughts towards the humming presence of a hurlock tugging at the corners of his mind, but this is not a hurlock. What he receives in turn from the narrowing of his focus towards this is the sense of being clawed into, some vast, ancient consciousness winnowing it's focus down solely to him, sinking into his head and wringing forth—
Ellis wrenches away from that presence so violently that it becomes a physical movement. He staggers unsteadily backwards to collide with the unfortunate person who'd happened to step into place behind him. Oops.
ellis | ota.
By the time they've reached the shrine itself, the melodious, hissing pressure of the Calling is beating like a second heartbeat in his ears.
It's not like the False Calling. It's bigger than that, all-consuming. The unwavering, disquieting rise and fall of it holds Ellis' attention as he moves along the edges of the room, taking in the rift in the center, one hand trailing very carefully against the slick, sharp stone walls. The familiar, eerie presence bears down on him like a physical force, something prying and pulsing in time with the rift in the center of the room. Nearly fifteen years of instinct turns his attention in towards it, steps slowing in his circuit around the rift. This is the same way he'd have turned his thoughts towards the humming presence of a hurlock tugging at the corners of his mind, but this is not a hurlock. What he receives in turn from the narrowing of his focus towards this is the sense of being clawed into, some vast, ancient consciousness winnowing it's focus down solely to him, sinking into his head and wringing forth—
Ellis wrenches away from that presence so violently that it becomes a physical movement. He staggers unsteadily backwards to collide with the unfortunate person who'd happened to step into place behind him. Oops.