I regain consciousness, though the pain is excruciating, white lights dance before my eyes in the black stillness, motes of brightness, dazzling, circling, revolving, rotating. "Oh goddess, I'm gonna be..." My stomach heaves, mocking my ill considered decision to eat earlier.
My attempts to rise are defeated by the slashing jaws of the deep dragon manacles cutting into the flesh of my wrists. "Not again," I scream, my echoes of rage filling the chamber, stirring the dust and decay with the strength of my vehemence, "NEVER AGAIN!"
His steps are light, untroubled, undaunted, unstopped. "Ah, at last, my pet awakens. And just in time for the ceremony as well." rasps the lich, the decaying flaps of skin about his lips making each syllable sound like the rustle of dead leaves.
I feel his dead stare, hatred burning through my core. "One has slept long. One knew that you would return someday." He rakes his talons across my cheek, drawing a gasp and a slow trickle of warm wetness down my cheek. "Ever the puppet, you were. Did thou not know that we were tied together by the Curse? That wherever thou didst go, One would follow?" Elaith reveals with a dry laugh. "One does not know how one came to be moved to this crypt, however, but it means nothing now. For this is where you are, this is where One is." he intones, satisfied, oddly jubilant.
Upon the altar, he lies the Tome. My eyes shift subconciously to its flesh bound pages, sigils written in the blood of defiled innocents. My skin crawls, being forced to even be near the damned thing, but my restraints do not allow me much leeway in position.
"One sees that you recall the Tome of Necros." Elaith drawls, his skeletal hand caressing the cover of the book like a lover. Goosebumps rise along the flesh of the binding, I avert my face, deeply disturbed by the monstrous artifact. "Yes, the Tome has finally revealed the mysteries to me. The time is indeed near. When the rites are completed, the undead hordes of Kieransalee shall sweep the living from the land, above and below, leaving nothing but a dried husk. The Culling shall begin!" He laughs, coughing up a smog of funerary miasma in his mirth.
From his frayed sash he pulls a bone dagger, laying it alongside my prone form. "One has only to make a final sacrement. One can think of none better than you, my pet." He grins down upon me, his rictus smile and tattered face enthralled in the raptures of ultimate victory.
He places tallowed candles about me, upon the altar, his muttered curses reaching my ears. A black flame leaps into being above each wick, sputtering a caustic smoke that forces me to cough uncontrollably. With a nod of his skeletal head, he turns back to the book, leafing through it's pages until finding what he seeks. "And now, One shall begin." he traces the mark of Kieransalee into the air, and begins the ritual.
I succumb to a moment of panic, uncertainty, but then I remember. The calling. The searching. The truth. A pair of feline eyes, emblazoned before my mind's eye. I know now what must be done.
His voice reaches a fevered pitch, reverberating about the walls so loudly that spiders scurry from their webs, rats shriek and protest before fleeing into the deeper darkness. Boney digits wrap about the bone dagger, the seething power and knowledge of the murder he is about to commit burns within Elaith, lending energy to the dark deed. He salivates hungrily, nothing more than an animal, a slave to the rite itself, now.
Poised over me, he hold the kris above my heart. "One consecrates this offering to thee, Kieransalee!" My breath catches, "To the end of life!" Down thrusts the dagger. I close my eyes, ready to meet my reward, my soul promised to another. A slight whistle can be heard as the blade arcs downward and then stops.
I feel ... nothing. The rattle of the dagger hitting the floor can be heard.
"What is this?!?!" I hear the lich proclaim, startled, suddenly frightened. "One cannot..." stammers Elaith. I open my eyes, joyous life greets me, clarity, knowledge of purpose. The lich has stepped back, clutching the demonic book to his chest like a shield.
"You think you have won, Elaith," I force myself up, as far as the binding restraints permit, blood runs freely as the jaws of the manacles cut further into my flesh, "but, you have made a mistake. A fatal one." I lock his vacuous, spirit glowing orbs in the trap of my heat-vision stare. A sneer cracks my lips.
"Goddess, hear me. Protect me. Lend me thy wisdom and strength." I reach through my faith and find her there. I hear a cat's purr. Her light, her will, her divine wonder. The power flows into me, enriching me. The world changes about me, colors seem brighter, sounds richer, textures fuller, tastes more pronounced. My lips move of their own volition, a litany of prayers, spoken in tongues, leaps forth.
The shackles open, falling away, broken, with a loud *CLATTER*. I sit up fully, afixing the lich with a dire glare, the words continuing to emerge from the mysteries of the Goddess' light. My hand reaches below my vestements, pulling forth my holy symbol, my TRUE holy ward.
Back stumbles Elaith, hissing and sputtering, his dead flesh smoking and curling like burning paper. "ONE does not understand... how this.. could be..." seeths the treacherous lich, ash falling from his errant limbs like snow. "One is protected from turning... by the Dark Liege." he screams "You were stripped... of your powers long ago!"
Holding the sigil before me, I advance, "That was indeed, long ago." I stride purposely forward. "And had you taken the time to note that you awakened in a different world, fool, you would know that you couldn't call upon the cursed protections of an undead goddess that doesn't exist, here."
I press my symbol to his forehead, the burning his of long dried flesh boils forth, filling the air with a sickly cloud. The screams that issue from his mouth are ear-splitting, forcing me to clutch my artifice even harder to ensure I do not drop it. "One... does... not... unders... tan...d..."
His remains collapse into nothingness. A pile of dust that begins to blow away even as I watch it. The power leaves me, the deed is done. "Dirt has no need of understanding." I kick at the last remains, sending it cascading into the air, scattered.
I weakly stoop down, rifling through the rags of Elaith's deserted clothing and find the Tome. Shuddering involuntarily, I force myself to take the book. "The answer sought lies here." I promise myself, "The secrets of the realms of chaos lie within." The book lurches from my hands, somehow knowing my intent, falling to the floor. Snarling, I grab up a broken manacle and chain from the altar, and advance upon the errant tome. Quickly I catch the thing, and after a brief struggle, manage to ensnare it within the bindings of the links.
"I must get you back to the Tabernacle ere the news of your presence gets back to unwanted ears." I whisper.
But I am tired. So very tired. The use of the power has drained me. My fear has overcome me. So very tired.
I slump down against the wall, fiercely holding the book. My last thoughts wander as I drift into an unwanted sleep. Dark Liege. Undead Hordes. The Culling. The nightmares begin.
Posted by Zayne at September 14, 2004 02:21 AM