Chapter 85: The Eclipse Falters
Three hundred miles beneath the surface of the Wildlands, far beyond the reach of Vanguard sensory magic, lay the central cathedral of the Cult of the Eternal Eclipse.
It was a subterranean marvel of dark architecture.
Massive pillars of jagged obsidian held up a cavernous ceiling, illuminated only by the sickly, flickering glow of green soul-fire torches.
At the far end of the grand hall sat a throne carved from the skull of a true Abyssal Dragon.
Seated upon it was High Pontiff Malakor.
He was a terrifying figure. He wore heavy, midnight-purple robes draped over a frame that radiated a suffocating, Level 250 aura.
But his most defining feature was his face. The entire left side of his head, from his jawline to his scalp, was a melted, horrifying canvas of scar tissue.
It was a permanent reminder.
A brutal gift left by Lord Commander Helion Goldmane's Valor of the Zenith Sun during the First Bastion War ten years ago.
