The crackling of mana fills the air, as the Red Magister empowers the ritual circle surrounding himself and a woman laid bare upon an altar in the center of the design. There is a moment of laughter as he acknowledges his own successes in-so-far before falling melancholy and approaching the woman. The glow of the circle dimly casting light about the chamber.

“I confide in you, and only you my dearest child, to what ends I have schemed these final months.” Anetho ran his palm along the young woman’s cheek, staring into her glossy, sedated, eyes. “When I was a livelier man, and my vengeance but an infantile plot, I discovered, amongst other baubles and grimoires that would set me upon this dark path, a mirror that reflects the thoughts of one individual upon another. I have entrapped my own memories, suffering, and experiences within it – and intend to pass them along to you with the foresight that you and I shall be one in the same – and yet a unique entity just the same… I intend for us to learn from this life as you and I share in another as a singular being.” He idly examined the chains holding her in place against the altar at the epicenter of the room, rattling them in his hands as Malathane began setting the ritual chamber for the dark sorcery he meant to unleash within it. “Several years later, in the deserts of Uldum I made another remarkable discovery… The sarcophagus that may instill raw mana upon it’s occupant, albeit painful, it remains very efficient. All I needed to do was make a few choice alterations and it would grant me the power I needed to dismantle my enemies; Even as it further aggravated my condition.”

“In my wildest dreams, never did I imagine that the two would be used hand in hand with one another alongside the notes of my progenitor… The Mirror, the tomb, and the book… and due credit to The Vigil; an orb capable of revealing the true name of the one that asks… With it, I could dissolve any binding pacts with the creatures of the Nether to secure my transition…” He ran his right hand through his unkempt hair with a sigh. “…You can’t imagine what a strange sensation it is to have felt omnipotent, omnipresent, and yet clueless to the world around you, for all the insight you think yourself to have… To intrude on the lives of so many people just for the sake of establishing yourself a bastard that you might retreat from one life lived in total ignorance of all the potential it had in favor of another.” The Red Magister sauntered back around to gaze down at his legacy; his words barely piercing the heavy fog of drugs he’d forced upon her.

“Asleon De’Forte. Anetho Dawnpride. In truth, both names are meaningless beyond the shell to which they are associated… and yet there is a measure of attachment that I cling to, despite the absurdity of it all. A consideration that perhaps I should not proceed with this last act and simply carry the name as my own unto whatever exists hereafter. Of course, such thoughts are completely dismissed… For in this moment, I am yet Anetho Dawnpride. I am yet an arrogant and defiant man consumed with contempt for all those whom forged him and their practices… Even with such insight upon myself, I cannot be dissuaded from within or without… despite Malathane’s passive attempts.” He rubbed at his chin in thought. “Perhaps she too knows it to be pointless and simply desires her due.” He shrugged at the woman pinned to the altar. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it? None of this does. A eulogy of my own make that I might better prepare myself for what may, or may not, come to pass with this horrid conjuration.”

“Know only that if this moment passes as I intend… You and I both shall live as we deserve and in equal parts revel in what we desire… You in your freedom, and I… in the knowledge that I have truly become omniscient. Forever lurking in the corner just out of sight of the world, forever in the back of everyone’s mind. Feared, respected, and anticipated. A thousand years may pass and so too may a thousand faces to match… Through this merging of our souls, and in time our minds, and the vast others that we shall encompass, we will be as though the very Gods themselves.”

He pulled the snake embroidered mirror from within the first fold of his coat and held it aloft overhead. It reflected a significantly healthier looking visage of the Magister standing behind him, shaking it’s head as if it disagreed with the ideals of his future self. “Gratua cuun xeroth vex’rok alak’shenakor.” He recited, as the image within was consumed by hellfire – the likes of which bled out from the mirror and enshrouded Anetho. There was a laughter from within the epicenter of the pyre. He could hear himself, the four of five iterations he’d imprinted upon the mirror as knowledge recorded and unrecorded alike merged together in reality and within the glass displaying the visions. He was, all at once, himself in every way possible. The fires retreated whence they’d come and there stood a perfect copy of Anetho, sickly yet stoic, beside himself. It nodded now, in agreement.

“Let us now put into effect, this dream of ours…” He turned about to address a figure lurking in the shadows behind him. “…This dream of yours. I only walk in amusement of that which it harbors.” Came a subdued voice originating from a cloaked individual. “And yet, every bit a part of it as the rest of the world.” He replied, surrendering the mirror to an outstretched hand that smelled of decay. “The waking dream is no less subject to the spectacles we envision.” Nostricus leered up at Anetho, narrowing his eyes from beneath his hood. “Sleep well, Magister. I look forward to further walking the dreamscape with you in what I anticipate to be many years to come.” He replied, before shuffling away. “You do not wish to watch this unfold?” Anetho asked, perking a brow. The Forsaken stopped for a moment before looking over it’s shoulder and replying simply.

“I need not witness for a second time, that which I have already seen.” He then continued forward, through the hallway and up the stairs. “…As you say… Hypnotist.” He set his eyes once again upon the young woman and resumed running his hands through her hair. “The pain shall pass swiftly… I encourage you not to cling to it. Doing so only brought me misery, and I calculate it shall be of no benefit to you either.” Malathane took a seat upon the stone floor and called out to Anetho that she was ready to begin. “…And so eight lights line the path to a deserved hell and I hold the flame in my palm…” He ignited a fel flame at his fingertip and wandered to the outside of the ritual circle to enact his last terrible act.

I awake. I scream. I thrash, and I knock the end table over. Looming over me is the hunched figure of Nostricus – those yellow eyes gazing deep within my soul, guiding me through memories and experiences still a blur to me. “This is but a vision of who you were, and perhaps the foundation of who you are meant to become… Through memories, we cement our dreams. You and I are entwined forever now through these dreams. For you and I shall in time become as one… This too, I have seen within our walks of the mind.” I perk a brow. “You have seen this within my mind?” I ask in a female voice that requires adjusting to in the realization that it now belongs to me. “Not yours; My own.” The Forsaken whispers, setting that same decaying hand upon my bare shoulder. “For your dream is as my own now – together, there are few realities we may not breach; once we have satisfactorily dealt with your desires as they are now.”

I feel my lips pull into a smirk, and again remind myself not to fall to such habits as I was so inclined to do and instead favor a neutral expression. “Such wishes shall take many decades yet.” There was a pause before Nostricus replied in that same mellow mannerism he seemed incapable of escaping. “We’ve nothing, if not time Dreamer.”


~ by anethodawnpride on May 7, 2015.

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