The Fortitude Of Sanity

((Karavoss))

He stared into the fire, shuddering as a warm spring breeze blew in through the open window. The robes he clutched were soaked in cold sweat as the wood shifted with a loud popping noise in the hearth. His head swam in a dizzying swirl of rush and spots of lights as he tried to keep his focus on the flames. And still, just out of his reach, the Mortith sat in full state of being upon the rough hewn table.

He stared at the dark tome, equally wanting it and no one else while also hating it with every fiber of his being. It had been only a few pages two years ago; the forsaken soul inside had rewoven the magic needed for those pages to fully bind themselves and replicate. Now it sat there, poisoning the air he breathed with a dark aura. It sat there still, taunting and suggesting to him.

Yet still did Severos Aven, former journeyman of Miekrannis, stay his urge to rip open the cover and gaze upon the foul and awful writings of power, penned by Galathus Kelmoran himself in an age bygone.

He knew better than to open and read, for he had seen what lay inside; Kelmoran himself lay in wait within those pages, waiting for any fool for power to cast their gaze upon his forbidden work. True spells did lay within the pages, as did the history of the rituals that earned the archlich infamy. But the true evil lay deeper, beyond life and before death.

Severos, shaking from shivers, slowly turned his gaze to the Mortith. It seemed to thrum with a familiar energy that called specifically for him, a tantalizing scent of a taste just out of reach yet watering his mouth all the same as a homeless man would to a lord's feast. His shivering lessened at the sight, feeling a connection that explained all to his mind. He had to read that book!

Äe... Tuth... Gra'hän...

Severos realized he was leaning towards the book and yanked himself back. He almost tipped his chair in his quick movement, knowing that the dark whispers emitting through the Weave was Kelmoran tempting him. He refused with a shake of his head.

He must not return... Not yet... You are privileged and curséd to bare such a burden... I wonder if he will claim you too, Master Aven.

Ceriden Malkaan had said those words to him, equal of fervour and fear in his voice. Severos had thought he understood then. Oh, how I wish I had understood then! I would have destroyed this! he thought.

He was not sure when he finally passed out from the strain of resisting, only that he awoke to the feeling of hardwood. He sat up, his left hand stretched to the Mortith to which he retracted. The chair had somehow been flung across the room, now halfway out the door. Severos stood, straightening his tunic and breeches.

He needed to get some air and desperately so. With a sucking in of air, Severos girded his will against temptation and reached for the book. The coldness coming off the book belied its touch when he gripped it. It was warm, as a stone was warmed by the sun on a beautiful summer day. With a quick turn and a pulse of Weave to the ground, a chest rumbled up from the ground and swung open with a clank. He laid the tome into its leaden confines, slamming the top shut with a weariness that sapped almost all his strength.

He leaned against the chest, gasping. He truly wanted what lay inside, he truly wished to clasp it to his chest and tear the world asunder. Instead, he gave one last pulse to the ground. The dirt swallowed it whole once more.

He cleaned himself up, changing clothes. He needed to keep it locked away for good yet he could not. Those words still echoed in his mind as he straightened up the hut. It had been fortunate that he had a chest. It made him think of Warfall, the exact same one that Horo had sought for an entirely different purpose. He smiled, missing his newest companions he had gained.

Would they even recognize me? He thought, knowing he looked like hell. He shook his head and headed out, intent on getting a steed. He had grown tired of walking everywhere. With a final glance around his cleaned abode, he closed the door and locked it with a spell or two. Severos set off into the woods, a hope that the day would be better resting on his mind.