The Shining

A set of beautiful Dark Oak doors appear in front of the caster, the Deep bells of Velsharoon, ring out and the doors begin to open. Once fully open a wave of rotting black blood begins to pour out flooding the grounds in its Necrotic Radiance. The Ancient Dark Oak doors shuddered once, as if drawing a final breath, and then the seam between them blossomed into a brilliant horror of red. It did not spill—it arrived. A tidal surge of blood poured forth with the weight and patience of the sea, thick and gleaming, catching torchlight like a thousand shattered rubies. It rushed low and wide, whispering as it went, carrying the iron scent of old vows and older sins. The doors vanished behind it, swallowed by their own secret, while the wave spread across the stone in slow, inevitable dominion—less a moment of violence than a grim revelation, as though the earth itself had decided to remember everything at once.