| Present day Ortal's home, The Spires The hands of the writer are already shaking, even though he hasn't written anything for afew hours. It's as if the writer's hands are protesting on what he wants to write down next. Something must have happened in the past, something terrible or painful, too painful for the body to want to remember it. But in the end, the writer manages to pick up the quill on the writer's block and dip it into the ever present ink well. The quill, together with the hand shakes uncontrollably. The first touch of the quill upon the parchment and the writer's body is dead still. The shaking suddenly stopped as the writer starts to write, penning down memories, fragments of the past as they appear in his head, images and memories of smells and sights are written down. |
| Fall, 4th, Year 464 (afternoon) He is not physically chained or forced to do anything, yet the master's stare at his back and his favored apprentices around him make it difficult to say no. The command, as that was what it was, not a request, no, a command, was ridiculous. But he had no right to refuse. An apprentice refusing his master in Sahova would result in death, right then and there, or after some time. It would come. So he agreed, there was nothing else for it. His fingers clamped on the malediction item. A talisman, the master had said. With a dead smile he had claimed it was curse free, no bad effects at all. At least not that he knew off. He chuckled afterwards, pushing the Undrykas towards the door of the laboratory. On his belt, the Undrykas carried a single knife. That was all he had, officially. Unofficially, the small snake skull he had maledicted seemed so hot on the inside of his pocket. How could the master not feel the heat emenate from it? The half circle of apprentices around him started to walk and he walked with them, followed by the master. They all spoke to each other, in tongues unknown to the Undrykas. At least back then they were unknown. He didn't bother to listen as they spoke to each other and simply walked along with them. Their little treck took them to the edge of the prairie, an area on Sahova that was used for testing purposes of everything. Every new invention, good or bad, would be tested somewhere here at some point, often mulitple times, to try and work out the kinks. The Undrykas had only heard of it, never set foot in it, though. It was too dangerous. The apprentices that made it back alive were often scarred, if they were lucky. If not, they lacked body parts or in certain cases, didn't return. "So? You know what to do, pulser? You wear the talisman, to test it. It has been tested before but we made some alterations, so we need it tested again. I pulled a name from the jar. It was yours, pulser. We'll be back in a few days to pick you up. I think." There was no need to even look at the master to know that he was enjoying every word he said. How could he not have. His most hated apprentice in years was about to die a horrible, horrible death, all thanks to careful planning of the master, Taren Alter. The Undrykas was scared, truly scared. He rememberes a long time ago, the same type of scared. Monsters had been involved, quite a lot of them. He had survived. But only barely. There had been so much blood, other children lying around, bleeding, missing limbs, being chipped at by the monsters. A push against his chest had him stumble backwards and out of his daydreaming. "Time to go, apprentice." He didn't understand a word the master said. He couldn't understand the language he spoke in. His mind went over the sound of the words. Apprentice. He recognized the sound of the word. It was in a completely obsolete language. Obsolete in the entire world, except here in Sahova. The first time he had been called that was turning out to be the last time as well. Fall, 4th, Year 464 (Early morning) The Undrykas was in the library. For the past three days, the master had thrown everyone out of the lab, everyone but his most trusted apprentices. Not trusted, no. The master trusted nobody, his most valuable apprentices. The ones he knew off. The Undrykas had been here for that time, spending almost every waking moment in the library. He was fascinated by it, drawn to it. It reminded him of Zeltiva. He could learn something here. He had found some sort of happiness here, although short lived when he realized that all of it was in some language he had never heard of or seen before. The golems didn't respond to his questions or his requests so, in the end, he had turned to one of the people in the library. Like most people here, he was a nuit and, like most nuits, he hated pulsers with a passion. But he had answered the question. "They're written in Nadar Canoch, stupid pulser. Now leave me to my studies before I decide to give you a good whipping." The Undrykas removed himself from the wizard. The threats meant nothing to him, the promise of pain and torture meant nothing to him anymore. There was no room for any of it in the Undrykas. Why would there be? Nadar Canoch. At least he had something to go by. The first day he simply wandered through the library, looking at the book covers and backs, trying to recognize anything. Sometimes, there were a few words he seemed to recognize. Djed, for example, appeared multiple times. From his past, he knew that it was the power that allowed him to flux and project. It was the power wizards wielded as their weapon. But with only the word Djed in his Nadar Canoch vocabulary, there was nothing he could learn from these books. So his wandering had turned into a search, specifically for a book or books that would allow him to learn the language. He was sure there was such a book here, how else could all these apprentices, wizards and masters know a language so long dead. Especially with the nuit having no desire to teach anything to anyone. His search had led him to a section of the library, all books on Nadar Canoch, or related to it, according to the label. He dove right in. His free time, combined with his desire to learn more, fueled his body. He pulled book after book out of the shelves, placing them back as soon as he saw that it was too difficult to start off with, or had no words he recognized in them. Finally, a book he could use was found. A single bound book, barely more than a few parchments of paper together, detailed a lot of combinations between words he did and didn't understand. Some he recognized as the languages in the world, Pavi and common amongst them. All of the words were connected to others, written in the dead language he was trying to learn. He sat himself with the book in the middle of the passage, turning page after page as he skimmed through the book, reading out some words in Nadar Canoch. It was difficult for him. Languages had never been his strength. But the possibility of being stuck under master Taren Alter, which was becoming almost second nature to the Undrykas, for even longer seemed to drive him, pushing him as he started from the beginning, reading the introduction, written in common, of the book. His finger moved under the words as he read them. "It is a historical fact that the early Humans all came from the same place and spoke the same language, which may not be native to Mizahar. These humans were few in numbers and belonged to a single culture that is usually called Protohuman. It was a very primitive culture, though it is unknown whether they had possessed more advanced societies where they came from and subsequently lost that knowledge. Because of its humble origins, Nader-canoch is a simple language, and it is quite ironic that it is now a language for a small cultural elite. - The ancient tongue did not suddenly fall out of use. It was a slow, gradual evolutionary process. As people found more concepts and ideas, they needed more words to represent them, and as such they made them up. Different regions invented different words and constructs, and this divergence is often quoted as one of the main reasons why humanity stopped being a cohesive force and dissolved into many cultures and civilizations. The end result was a plethora of new language that only bore minimal resemblance to the original tongue - only a few, niche fields managed to preserve it in a form that was close to the original version. Foremost among these was the magic community." His studies were purely limited to words, no grammar or anything. Simple translations of single words, or maybe two combined, but nothing more. With nobody to properly teach him anything, the Undrykas learned on his own. He read the first word over and over again. 'Nadar Canoch'. Two simple words in the language but the meaning written next to it was so much more, an endless combination of possiblities. 'Nadar' meant something along the lines of 'word', 'speech', 'that which is spoken' and 'Canoch' was something like 'we', 'us', 'ours', 'what we share'. So from Nadar Canoch, the Undrykas could make word-we, word-us, word-ours, word-what we share, speech-we, speech-us, speech-ours, speech-what we share, that which is spoken-we, that which is spoken-us, that which is spoke-ours, that which is spoken-what we share. The last one sounded utterly ridiculous to the Undrykas. But the meaning was clear. Nadar Canoch meant roughly something like: 'the language that we speak' or 'Our language'. For a moment, the Undrykas' lips curled up in somewhat of a smile. It didn't sound so very interesting when translated. He skipped the second word. 'Djed'. 'Backbone'. The magical power in everything, used by mages and wizards as a source of power. He already knew about that one. But after those two words, the Undrykas had no idea anymore what the rest meant or how to properly translate them. 'Abase' translated into something along the lines of 'beginning', 'start', 'birth' perhaps. 'Spring', the start of the new year. He repeated the word and let it roll off his tongue, unknown if he was abusing the language or if he was a natural at it. He repeated it over and over again, often covering the word or the translation and trying to see if he could remember by heart. The process repeated itself as time passed, he didn't know if it had been chimes or bells before he was satisfied with 'Abase'. Without having to read it from the book, he rolled out all the translations of the word. He returned the next day and continued where he had left off. 'Adra' the Nadar Canoch word for anything liquid, from water to juice to alcohol and liquor. According to the book, it was also 'not solid'. The Undrykas figured that meant anything that one couldn't grasp was 'Adra' wether he could drink it or not. Clouds and air. 'Adra'. The word rolled pleasantly off his tongue, although once again he wasn't sure at all if it was correct. "'Adra Abase' would be... the well? The spring, the origin of water... Or would it be '"Abase Adra'? The Undrykas mumbled to himself, talking to nobody else, since there was nobody else around besides the golem that was ignoring him. 'Adra' was water or liquid and 'Abase' was the start or beginning. 'Adra', 'Abase' He would get there. If he had enough time, if the master allowed him. There were a lot of if's for the Undrykas. His studies moved on as he attempted to remember more and more words, often going back to old ones and mixing them together, trying to form words. He had no idea if he was doing it right or not. Nobody to tell him he was wrong, nobody to praise his talent for the language. All alone, the Undrykas felt at ease, surrounded by books who didn't judge him for who or what he was. Two days he sat and studied. Two days and he learned barely ten words in the new language. His study time was roughly interrupted on the third day by master Taren Alter and his favored apprentices barging in, looking for him. Fall, 4th, Year 464 (afternoon) He recognized the word apprentice. But it didn't matter now. He had to do as the master said. There was nothing else for him, obey or die. It was obvious. He held onto the talisman the master had given him. "Get on with it. What are you waiting for, pulser?" The fist he raised was useless and unneeded as the Undrykas lifted the skull in his hand up and placed it on his head, covering his hair. He pushed the skull down, slipping it over his hair. It moved over the Undrykas' eyes, like a visor of a helmet. The effect was immediate. As soon as his eyes looked through the empty sockets in the skull, he felt the effects of the item. He was so powerful, so all powerful. Invincible. Master of all. He looked at his hand and shifted it, simply because he thought it would be interesting, into a large five clawed paw, covered with thick shell on the outside. His arm lashed out, why not? He was so powerful. The nearest apprentice fell on the floor, his head soaring throught he air and hitting the dusty ground of the prairie, rebounding once and landing on the ground, rolling over twice and then it stopped. Only then did the body start to realize and collapse. The other apprentices started to pool their Djed, their 'backbone'. The Undrykas smirked as he could see it, could see what they were trying to do. Each of them pulled their djed towards their own discipline, for most of them it was reimancy. He raised his left hand, his thumb, ring and middle finger raised up towards the sky. He snapped, once, because he could. The noise sounded like a thunderclap, the apprentices looking up from their concentration, their Djed shaking. And then their Djed was gone, in a flash. The apprentices tried to focus for a moment longer before they realized what had happened. The fear was clear on even their nuit faces. But his power dwindled as well. He could feel it. Where was the thief? He knew there was a thief, he could see his Djed slip away and float out towards... towards... Puny nuit. He lashed out towards the man in front of him. He seemed to vaguely remember him. Master something or the other. But he was the master now. His right hand collided with the cheek of the master. But there was no head floating in mid air, no dead nuit on the ground. His hand was just a hand. His power... Without waiting, the Undrykas turned around, away from this enemy. He had to regroup, plan, conquor before he would return and finish this one. Puny nuit. He dashed off, away from the scared apprentices, away from the master, away from the beheaded nuit. He ran and ran through the dusty prairie, no life in sight, none that was strong enough to feed him anyway. The longer he ran, looking for food, the more exhausted his body became. He hadn't yet gotten used to this body so his power wasn't as strong as it used to be. He was limited. He needed rest. The body ran into a pillar of bone, the ribcage of some creature, long dead. There was a sting in his leg, actually two, close together, at the same time, he could see. Somehow he could see it happen, although it had already happened. The Undrykas, or whatever was in control at that time, reached in his pocket and felt the hot skull touch his fingers. He pulled on it and felt the bony teeth slip out of his flesh. He stared at the skull, while it was still in his pocket and while he was pulling it out, while he brought it in front of his eyes. And then he looked at it while he turned it around in his fingers. It was hot to the touch, yet it didn't burn. Blackness, pure darkness fell over him. Somehow he knew he had collapsed against the rib, a very uncomfortable position. He had been here before, the darkness. It was familiar somehow, although the Undrykas couldn't place it. There had been no darkness before, he had been the most powerful one, the only one. Nobody dared to come close to him and he had ruled, alone, for so many years. He had seen the passing of winter a dozen times at least. And now... now he was this. Limited by this little body, useless body. The body stirred and he stood up, slowly, trying to get used to what just happened. The hand of the body reached up for the skull on his head. Why? He hadn't ordered it to do so. No! No! Don't do it! But the voice, the presence of the soul was trapped in the skull, no longer master of the body. Nooooooo!!!! The Undrykas removed the skull from his scalp. It took him two days to finally find a spot he seemed to recognize. The prairie had been enormous. His pulser body was exhausted and dehydrated. He staggered as he dragged himself forward, one hand holding the skull, carried for the past days. He recognized the area because there was a headless nuit body lying on the ground, the head a distance away, truly lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. With the skull in his left hand and the head in his right, the Undrykas continued on, the snake skull burning in his pocket, towards the peaks and towers of Sahova, returning for duty. The master was... unhappy, to say the least. His apprentice had returned, against all odds. He cursed and screamed, punched the already deadly exhausted apprentice in front of him. Why was he smirking like that. Why did he carry the skull? Why wasn't he dead? Why wasn't he possessed? And why did he bring the head of his other apprentice with him. Around him, the still living nuit apprentices made sure to keep out of reach from him, just in case. The beating the master gave him that day was brushed aside by other thoughts and feelings. While the kicks were raining down on him, hitting him in the gut and stomach, hitting his ribs and arms as he tried to defend his head, the Undrykas felt nothing but victory. Summer, 91st- Fall, 1st, Year 464 The Undrykas focused on the item in front of him, a left over snake skull. According to the notes of the nuit apprentice, the snake was highly poisenous and very coveted for said poison because it acted as an antidote for many others. With different herbs, the poison could also be used to put someone in a state of faked sleep by blocking their spirit from their body, temporary. The creature itself was dangerous as it was, but the mixture that could be created was the true danger here. The Undrykas took the smallest carving knife at the table. He was alone, once again, the master and his apprentices in the library, searching for information for the master's latest project. He brought the point of the knife to the bony surface of the snake skull. The circle was carved quite quickly. The knife dug into the hard surface, shaving and chipping off the pieces, creating bone dust with every motion. The skull was small, so the Undrykas had to be careful and detailed at the same time. The circle had to be round round, not block round. But he wanted more from this malediction, more than what the other apprentice wanted, more than what he had already learned from all of it. He urged himself on, searching his mind, probing his knowledge for anything that could help him. But there was nothing. The candle dwindled and shrunk as it burned, time passed, but the Undrykas couldn't think of anything that could possibly help him here. But there was one option. Incredibly dangerous, yet a fine possibility. If succesful, it would be possible to use it as his proof of being a wizard, something new, progress that was proof of his skill. But in order to do so, he would have to get his hands on quite a few things. He worked all night, using the goods the other apprentice had requested, stealing from his supplies to better his own skill and fame. In a way, very nuit like, abusing others to further your own goals, and yet also so very unlike them at the same time. The carving knife dipped into the paste. It contained every ingredient, prepared according to the notes of the apprentice, except for the snake poison. He hoped it would create what he hoped. A way out of master Taren Alter's abusive way of pulser apprentices. A way for him to get so many things for himself, a way to better himself. In Zeltiva it had been easy, simple practice and learning did the trick. But here... here it was so much more fun. An uncharacteristic and almost nuit like thought flashed through his mind. He would enjoy the look on the master's face when he presented this to someone who could get him out of this lab. His knife was steady as he detailed out the circle some more, shaving off little corners with his paste covered knife. Inside the circle he started to carve, miniscule and minimal art, a snake with open mouth, ready to strike, its body rolled up, ready to spring into action. The teeth of the snake were exegarated, large and sharp, with the poison dripping from them. The poison was important, that's what he needed. The entire was in the image of poison. The next circle, touching against the first, was drawn with the paste, a simple goo carved into the bone, combined with the poison drop that fell out of the first circle, there was a straight line down the back of the snake skull from the point of the snake teeth to the goo in the second circle. The knife was often dipped into the paste again, refreshing the gooey covering of it. It mixed into the carving, mixed into the cuts he made into the bone, mixed into the images he created with the blade. His skill had improved once again. The snake was very detailed and lacked any sign of being made out of seperate cuts. It was a well designed snake, barely visible from more than an arms length away though, but from up close the detail was quite impressive, considering the size. The paste that had covered the blade was visible, reflecting the light somewhat. It was an impressive piece of work. But he wasn't finished yet. There was one more addition required for this to work. Or at least, that was what the Undrykas hoped for. His knife cut through the bone, a thin, hidden from plain sight, groove in the skull. It went from just outside the spot where both circles hit each other over the nose of the snake to the front. Where the snake's mouth would end and the two sharp teeth started, he split the groove in two, both leading down a seperate tooth, all the way to the point of the tooth. That would do it. The only problem was that the intended effect wouldn't be able to be tested, at least not without a test subject that was disposable. So anyone but the Undrykas. The thought stunned him. What was he thinking? Where had something like that come from? Was the master starting to brush off on him? Was he turning nuit more and more? The blood ran down his thumb and gathered near the tip of his nail, where it formed a drop, slowly. The cut he had made had been very shallow, only drawing enough blood for a drop or two. No need to bleed to death or to leave lasting scars for an experiment. The first drop fell, drawn in by gravity, and hit the skull in the middle of the first circle. The second drop formed as well and followed its colleague but landed in the second circle. Now all he needed was a test subject. At the time, the Undrykas would have never thought of using it on himself. |
| Present day Ortal's home, The Spires The writing had gone better than expected. Whatever mental barriers had been keeping the memories at bay had been opened, flooding the writer's mind with them as he wrote, penned down things and events as they came to him, trying to sort through everything as it occured to him. The parchment was a first, completely unstructured but at the same time it also had something for it. The reading was more... mysterious. The writer couldn't help it, even though the subject had been painful to try and remember, the end result brought a small curling up of the lips to the writer's face as he put the quill down on the writer's block. Perhaps bringing all these memories and feelings out wasn't such a bad thing after all. |
