Intentions

Huoyue has proven herself one of those rare silver linings in this profession. It may be prudent to spare her the coming flames. Despite my words to the contrary – I trust her intentions within the Kor’Kron and her capabilities implicitly. We spoke at length regarding the Vale of Eternal Blossoms and the recent boom of Kor’Kron Guard presence – she is nearly as conflicted about it as I, but was more than pristine in her claims in turning against the Horde should they happen to do anything devious… Well more so than they already have. But then, how many have also made the same claims time and again?

There is just the matter of releasing the seals I’ve imposed upon myself – Which I am tendering presently. There is always the chance such power will rip my body apart, but I’ve never really bother such possibilities in the past, have I? Entreaties with Old Ones, demons, and even satyrs – some pacts still left unfulfilled and others broken through careful manipulation of friend, foe, and associate alike. Transactions of the verbal format often lack the dignity of fine print. Something I both loathe and love.

Such is the language of change.

“Comfortable, darling Selanda?” Anetho inquired with a smug grin, pulling at the shackles he’d bound the Succubus to upon the desecrated remnants of an Altar to the Light. “I’d spit at you if I didn’t already know you’d find satisfaction in it.” He pulled gently upon her ear. “You’ve hid such secrets from me, darling – not least amongst them a desire to feast upon my soul… That isn’t very nice, you know?” She faced the stone wall opposite of him. “Did you ask -her-?”

“I did.” She sighed, feeling sincerely hurt. Se loved her. “How long?” Anetho brushed a lock of her jet black hair behind her ear gently. “Long enough for you to service my desires…” He set his left hand upon the center of her bare breasts, opening the flows of ley to consume her magical potential. She bit her lip in discomfort. She wouldn’t reward him with her disposition. “…Sadly, your desires no longer satisfy my needs.” He paused, sucking her dry. When at last her reserves were exhausted and her breath became labored Anetho began to pry the very essence of life from her.

She arched her back, pulling in vain at her bindings – which glowed with red arcana at her futile endeavors. Color faded from her hair, falling white and empty. Her cheeks lost their sun kissed complexion. Wrinkles formed along the corners of her eyes and her features grew increasingly gaunt. She whimpered at last under the strain she was subject to before this man, utterly powerless. Every second she grew weaker and he looked more and more invigorated.

He pulled his hand back at last, leaving just enough vitae left within the seemingly immortal creature for conscious thought to remain – but little else. He opened a book upon the ancient altar and began to speak in the language of the Eredun. She knew what took place the instant her soul left her body. He’d acquired a grimoire of sacrificial magicks – and she’d been the lamb of choice. Fel fire wrapped about Anetho as he devoured her entirely. Before her eyes failed she saw the monstrocity she’d unwittingly forged.

Pain. Pain courses through my body. Every suppressed thought, action, emotion, every word withheld – I can feel it surge through me just as surely as the mana within rips its way from my chest, encompasses my very being. I see nothing but viridian hues. I can feel the change, the taint taking me a second time over. No, it’s worse than before. My hair rises from my back and ripples into the very air. I scream. Every candle fades out, leaving the residual magicks flowing from my being to illuminate the cavern. I fall to my knees. I hold my head in agony. My clothes are burnt asunder. The cinders take to the air, filling my nose with the scent of brimstone and scorched silk.

I retreat into my mind – imagery of a thousand mirrors lining a corridor. I see myself. No, I see every personification of myself as I’ve portrayed. As I’ve hidden. Who Anetho Dawnpride was. “I’ve watched you change.” They all speak in a mono-tone, a thousand voices coming to me as one. The radiance of the power coursing through me is blinding and yet I cannot blink. I look to my hands, thinking for a moment I might turn Wretched, or worse. My forehead beats like the pounding of drums.

In a moment, everything clears and I’m once again in the desolate halls of this once proud chapel. I look up to the icon of the Light and witness just how far I’ve truly fallen from the man that first defined himself as Asleon De’Forte. Tears well up in my eyes, and I cling to myself out of a sense of self-pity. I rise to my feet and slowly shuffle away.

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~ by anethodawnpride on August 30, 2013.

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