I was once asked what death felt like whilst in the company of Liaskar Moonwalker. I replied that it was an experience I would never willingly partake of again. Never shall I forget the cold hands of fate reaching out to draw me into the Nether, nor shall I neglect the means by which I was narrowly afforded the luxury of escape. Only now, years later, can I appreciate the hidden fears of my words that would drive me forward. Sadly I appear to have lied to him just as much as myself. If what I’ve deciphered is correct then, once more, I’ll need to breach the veil between life and death. I shudder at the thought of touching nothingness again. I agonize over the loss of my body and perhaps even all the experiences therein. 

In preparation for the unknown I’ve hidden my grimoires, journals and copies of what few public records exist within my vault and shall entrust another to surrender the key to this vassal when the time is right, if every it should come to pass at all. I don’t even know if anything shall come of this; I may only be rushing headlong into the pyre I’m trying so desperately to avoid… Even so it cannot be helped. Better to perish in futile hopes than withering away in a bed like some decrepit old man. 

To first establish flows of binding arcana to the soul one must prepare a double elipsis circle with the Eye of Sargeras perfectly scribed at the center to mirror the link between worlds adequetely. The lamb of choice will remain in the center; preferably suspended upright over it or bound at four points across it. A healthy supply of mana must be provided over the course of two hours or until  the circle glows a brilliant purple. A pentagram shall now be scrawled along the thriving circle with each sacrificial object placed at it’s respective focal point. The flows of ley will follow along this additional circle as it is forged, errors could prove fatal as the incomplete circle might fluctuate unexpectedly outside of the diagrams displayed in the figures below. Once finished, allow for the spacing of two to five inches that an additional circle might be forged. Ensure that you do not disrupt the initial one as…

       -Excerpt from An Untitled Tome


It’s all I can think about in recent days – this ritual. Even the slightest mistake would surely send me careening towards the inferno that awaits all sinners… Or perhaps worse yet; into the arms of the one whom provides my dreams. Anriel… She did promise to await my crossing. I’m not entirely eager to witness what designs she retains for me should I cross over. Alas, such things remain beyond the scope of even my power and understanding and only serve as a distraction best distanced from my thoughts, better to focus on the more immediate issues.

I’ve relocated myself to the Kalimdor retreat and brought whatever I could through the portal before my spellcraft fizzled out in the face of my failing health. My reserves of moonwell water have begun to dry up so I’ve made arrangements to secure more directly from the source. Malathane is adjusting well enough in this task, given she so often chooses to spend her time outside. T’is baffling really, but I suppose even savage lands such as Ashenvale hold some manner of beauty. 

“You have of course given some thought as to what shall become of your other assets beyond trinkets and papers, yes?” Malathane inquired from her perch a fine oak tree. “Yes. A great while ago, when the Cataclysm was yet shaking our world and I was disavowed I’d diverted several thousand coins via writs of transaction. The Goblins have been holding my finances in trust – who better than hoarders of all that glitters? They will of course retain a dividend with my passing to a percentage but what remains should sufficiently meet whatever needs you have.” Anetho replied from the base of the tree, casually puffing at a cigar. “This sum of coin shall be divided amongst you, the girl, and whomever else assists in my final affair.” He pressed the smoldering tip against the ground as he exhaled slowly and observed the cancerous smog as it dissipated into nothingness, mirroring what he’d wrought in his lifetime. Briefly it contaminated all it touched only to fade from memory as if it had never existed in the first place. “Fitting…” He whispered to himself as he stood up and made for his retreat to further his studies. 


~ by anethodawnpride on February 21, 2014.

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