Free
The echo of footsteps bounces along the halls of the Undercity as Ezekiul follows the dwindling trail of fire left behind by his imp minion. Peering around the corner of a wagon, his gaze falls upon the sleeping figure of Zanik. His project, his masterpiece, his son. As the necromancer kneels beside the prone figure, inspecting the symbol carved nearby by his imp, his mind begins to wander. All the mistakes... all the plots, the plans, every action he'd taken since the day he killed his son had led to this moment.
Drawing a knife hidden among his robes, the necromancer traces a line along one of his palms and let the ichor seep out onto the diagram. A purple glow gently suffuses Zanik as his father taps into his soul. A cascade of raging fire floods into his mind, nearly overcoming his defenses. Where...
Ah, there. His gaze locks on to a slight discoloration in the fire. A flame within a flame, the color of blood... yet compared to the raging inferno around it, this small blaze was calm and somehow gentle. It's position set firmly in his mind, Ezekiul began his spell.
Zanik woke with a start, his mind drifting up from a comfortably deep sleep. My mind...? He stood on shaking legs, supporting himself by leaning against a nearby wall. His gaze swept his surroundings. Yes, he was where he fell asleep at... of course. But on the ground, at his feet, what once may have been an intricate design lay smeared along the cold floor. He tried to think... and to his amazement, he succeeded. His mind didn't wander, nor did it draw blanks. Memories didn't flood him, but instead gently washed over him. His father, his mother, his origins. But somehow, he didn't feel angry. He was upset, for sure, but the horrible burning that he expected to rise up in his chest did not come. Just normal, natural, plain old anger.
"Curious..."
Drawing a knife hidden among his robes, the necromancer traces a line along one of his palms and let the ichor seep out onto the diagram. A purple glow gently suffuses Zanik as his father taps into his soul. A cascade of raging fire floods into his mind, nearly overcoming his defenses. Where...
Ah, there. His gaze locks on to a slight discoloration in the fire. A flame within a flame, the color of blood... yet compared to the raging inferno around it, this small blaze was calm and somehow gentle. It's position set firmly in his mind, Ezekiul began his spell.
Zanik woke with a start, his mind drifting up from a comfortably deep sleep. My mind...? He stood on shaking legs, supporting himself by leaning against a nearby wall. His gaze swept his surroundings. Yes, he was where he fell asleep at... of course. But on the ground, at his feet, what once may have been an intricate design lay smeared along the cold floor. He tried to think... and to his amazement, he succeeded. His mind didn't wander, nor did it draw blanks. Memories didn't flood him, but instead gently washed over him. His father, his mother, his origins. But somehow, he didn't feel angry. He was upset, for sure, but the horrible burning that he expected to rise up in his chest did not come. Just normal, natural, plain old anger.
"Curious..."