Out of the Darkness #3 - Awakenings

Ryltar's picture

anguish anguish terrible AnGuISh impotent FuRy angerfrusTRATION a dying curse and then ...
Nothing.

The Void.

 

He floated blissfully, unaware, at peace with himself andhis surroundings. Even while his thoughts made an effort to take form, theyvanished in a haze of swirling sparks. He had nothing to care about. No need toworry. There was no-one here but him, and he relished the opportunity to tryand think out aloud, without having to fear that some petty ursurper or anothertry and steal his powers. Old enmities and rivalries were nothing but a paleremembrance, dying sparks drifting slowly upon the all-encompassing backgroundof eternal blackness.

 

He turned around, the familiar mantle of nothing followinghim in his wake. Slowly, he drifted in the direction he believed to be “forward”,having lost all sense of direction. For a second, he entertained the notionthat he was travelling in circles, just to keep himself occupied during ...what? He did neither know nor care at the moment. All he wished for was torest, and to sleep ... and to drift toward nothing at all, his finaldestination.

 

From time to time, a small voice inside him piped up, avoice full of bitterness and spite that told him emphatically he shouldimmediately((WAKE UP!! WAKE UP YOU FOOL OR ALL IS FOR NAUGHT!))butevery time that voice was drowned out quickly by a vast rushing sound, adeafening torrent that filled his ears like the crashing of high waves on abeach during a thunderstorm. Weird,though, that such a sound should haunt him in his state of calm ...

 

He chose to ignorethe voice again, and again, and again. But it would only be muffled, stillscreaming out in the back of his mind, not to be silenced forever.

 
*****
 

The half-orc was bent over his work, studying it with suchan intensity that he didn't notice the candle burning low until it was toolate, and he was sitting in pitch darkness once again. Murmuring a soft oath,he rose and felt the smooth wooden edge of the table before him, his handbrushing against several pencils and quills in the process, at least one ofwhich fell to the floor with a bright clattering that, oddly, reminded him ofcracking bones. Shuddering slightly, he used his workplace as a guide,navigating his cluttered study rather quickly, and finally arriving at row ofdrawers set in the eastern wall. He started to dig for flint and tinder.Moments later, sparks flew, and the unsteady light of a wick once again filledhis room.

 

He snarled, angry at himself for the interruption at such acritical point of his endeavor, and fell back into his chair, again poring overthe dusty, leather-bound tome that was lying before him.

The current page was marked with a piece of cloth bearing astrange, sinuous symbol, several circles woven in an elaborate pattern ... butthe half-orc paid it no mind. All that mattered were the contents of the page.Devouring every word, he excitedly started to scribble down notes onto a pieceof parchment marked with Penbrum's triple P seal. His cramped handwriting beingnear to illegible, all that an observer looking over his shoulder might havemade out was something like:
 

„The ingredients .... ........ feather. Bronze sphere, orplate, or similar. Valuable ..... pearl.......... thirteen. Thus you willsummon His most trus.... ..... and in turn, Him ....“

 
He raised his head, the candlelight adding a feverish glintto his gaze, and for the first time in hours was conscious of the acceleratedbeating of his heart, the ever-so-slight trembling of his hand. Apparently, forall his efforts to purge emotions from his body, excitement still held claimover his body, but no matter. It was understandable that he show joy. Tomorrow,he would take the first step and call the Sacred One to him. Then, soon, SOON, letthe planes tremble before the might of his lord.
 

 

Having carefully closed the book, he gathered his writingsand snuffed out the candle with his thumb. Time for a final rest for the daysthat lay ahead, and the labors that awaited him there.
 

 

If the same observer that unsuccessfully tried to decipherhis handwriting earlier would have remained inside the room as its originalinhabitant opened the door to leave, maybe he would have noticed the clothbookmark subtly changing. For a second, the symbol painted upon it all butresembled a mouth filled with fanged teeth, smiling in fiendish pleasure. Then,the symbol was gone, leaving the cloth mark blank.
 

Time for the observer to leave.

*****

 
Again, the voice chose to speak to him. He angrily swattedit aside like an annoying fly, but this time it would not be deterred. Gnawinghungrily, it latched on to his thoughs and started to burrow, entering his mind,probing it ((make it stOP make it STOP)) and nudging it into action. After a while, the pain became so intense that even he, even in the state of peace he was in, had to give in.
 

 

anger anger at that thought but WHAT? Someone had notforgotten him ... someone was subtly calling to him, someone ... but asingle voice, but it remembered his name and there would be more, others, itpromised, and... ... he gave in to the thought, his hope, and kindled asingle spark within his thoughts.
 

 

Thus, he sent forth his servant.
 
*****
 

 

The half-orc dared to open his eyes again. After the thunderouscacophony that had enfolded him just a blink of an eye ago, the sudden silencearound him was even more disconcerting. He lay behind an overturned workbench,the broken and mangled remains of a Contracted worker half-buried beneath theslab of stone. Various apparati had broken in the aftermath of the wave offorce that had hurled him to his current position, their contents oozing outonto the floor and forming slowly congealing puddles of various embalmingfluids. His nose stared to work again, and the half-orc had to force himself tokeep breathing slowly for a second to keep himself from gagging outright. Evenone as used to being around the Dead was appalled by the stench, and he foughtto keep focus. Rest ... he should rest.
 

 

Yes ... but what of It? The question kept nagging at hismind and made him gain control over his muscles again. Groaning, the half-orcturned over and raised himself to a kneel, slowly looking over the workbenchtoward the spot where he knew the portal to be.
 

 

A dark form, its outlines blurring and flowing, hungmotionless in the air, its eyes dark like murky wells with no way to measuretheir depths; its whole body shrouded in a curtain of mist; two claws of ebonywhite flexing slowly in the rhythm of his heartbeat.
 

 

He felt exultation. He had done what no-one before him sincethe Great Defeat had managed to accomplish! His dreams had come true. His was aplace at the side of his master, and the elf bitch would be made to pay.
 

 

The being then changed form into something even morehorrible, and the half-orc began to scream.

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"That is not dead which can eternal lie," and often Those ought not to be awakened!

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