Commissioned by :linkealadubh:

The chapel was old, far older than it should have been.
It sat nestled in trees and muck outside of town, abandoned and reviled.
Anyone from the town seemed to have some reason to avoid it, but the usual fare when asked about it was “cursed” or evil. Sometimes he got “don’t go there” and nothing more. He’d rolled his eyes and asked for a map. Eventually he got a few people offer to help, but soon realized that their directions were often deliberately wrong, or misleading. In a day’s time through piecing their disparate pieces of information and as a credit to his own perseverance, he found it.

The stone edifice was listing to the side slightly, as it began its slow sinking death into the brackish waters of the swamp. Trees and vines had claimed part of it already, and the doors were bolted shut. Nobody seemed to want him to enter this place, even nature was against him.

He came prepared. He picked the lock, and broke off the bolts with a little force; they too had rotted in the years of neglect in the forsaken place. Entering inside, the chill and dampness of the place was paramount. it smelled of mildew and old stone, and while it looked strong, he felt an air of fragility about it. It was basilican planned chapel, built with a gray stone rapidly being taken over by lichen and moss. Once ornate banners rotted and fell from their wall mounts, and the main carpet running to the altar bore signs of the same insect-eaten fate. The stained glass windows were mostly broken in now, time and nature seemed to abhor the art work, branches and root systems entered the portals as if they were reaching something. Reaching for the altar.

One window, near the apse of the building had survived, It showed a red dragon, in a fetal position against a field of azure. He marveled at the glass for a moment, wishing he’d remembered his camera. But what really drew his attention was the strange altar. Upon inspection, he immediately realized this was no place of worship, at least not one anyone would admit to.

The altar was a strange construction, with jagged edges, and reptile-like support stands. The blood red carpet actually started as the altar cloth, and stretched down across the nave. The altar held a series of melted heaps of candle wax, a human skull and an old dusty tome. The skull he would not touch, and at the sight of it, began to take stock in the townsfolk’s tales of curses and evil. But it wasn’t the first skull he’d seen, and was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

The book however, demanded his attention.
It was a musty tome, the papers made long ago, by hand crinkling at this touch. The words when in English were in an old gothic typeface, colored in an off putting dark red. There were a few illustrations, all showing a similar dragon to the one in the glass window. Yet as he thumbed through the pages, it became apparent that he couldn’t recognize the letters, there was another language here. The letters were jagged and rough, as if written by a leaking pen. Each page the illustrations grew darker and disturbed him even more so.

Tearing himself from the book at last, he tried to close it, and gave himself a minor paper cut. Or at least, he thought it was minor. The blood from his small cut had already touch the paper. The book began to glow, and shake in his hands. As he struggled to hold it, more of his blood came into the paper, and the words began to glow.

The light emanated from the book, striking him in the chest. At once he felt winded, and dizzy, but a stronger sense of dread had build in him. Something else was happening. His body heaved, and grew. His hands grew wicked claws, and skin hardened to dark brown scales. His panic was mollified by the strange light and could hardly move. The book slipped from his grasp, and as the book’s light poured over him, he changed more. Armlike burst from his back, forming into massive leathery wings.

His spine jolted and grew, a tail whipped out from his rear, and his neck extended, taking the scales and other changes with it. From his head, two great horns grew from his brow. His face pulled out into a massive snout, brimming with sharp teeth. His chest barreled, and as his spine reshaped and grew pushed him down to all fours. His clothing shredded and useless, became a hinderance as he continued to grow. It took the draconic being mere seconds to discard them. His body warped and grew, becoming too small for the chapel to contain him. With a mighty roar the now full-fledged dragon burst from the ancient chapel, escaping into the night.

The dragon spread his wings, and left the crumbling chapel to sink below the swamp, somehow he knew he'd found what he was looking for.

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This was a blind commission, and it quickly took a life of it's own.
He didn't ask for the story, I chose to add it

Photoshop
2015
~Age
(Originally posted on FA/DA)