[Attempted Flashback] Immortality in Death

[Corum]

Spring, 460 AV

Another day, another few ways people can kill each other. At least, that was the life of young Corum. He was a weapons smith, employed in the city of Zeltiva. He was raised by his mother, his father having been killed by a bandit. He was taught, as a child, that violence was wrong and should be avoided at all cost. He found it humorously ironic that as a profession, he gave people the means to cause violence. He used his powers of creation to forge the tools of destruction. This was not so bad, though. It was steady work that gave good pay, and though he was not the best, his weapons did the job well enough. He had not wanted this, however.

Corum, in youth, had wanted to be a wizard of mighty skill and awesome ability. He had often dreamed of moving stones with the force of his will, to spit great bouts of fire upon his foes and craft armies of golems to use as he saw fit. After work was done, his blades ready for use, he would often go to the University of Zeltiva, though they would not take him. Between work and his family, he had not the time to practice the arcane arts. The books of the university’s library held their secrets, however. It was quite some time before he had learned how to read.

Within an hour or so of failed attempts at deciphering the written word, he would give up and bless the local tavern with his presence. A little alcohol did the body good, but Corum was never one for moderation. Often times he would simply drown himself in the cheapest gut rot that was available at the time. It was one such time that he had met an interesting old man.

The old man was of a frail, withered sort. The top of his head was thick with stark white hair, his light blue eyes beheld the visage of an old, old being, though his face was barely wrinkled. The man wore dirty traveling robes, and he had no obvious weapons on his person... meaning that he had obviously traveled the wild roads alone and unarmed. None of this, of course, was noticed by the intoxicated Corum. Corum had been talking loudly, not to anyone really but to any who would listen. He complained of his life, not being able to pursue the life of a magician. None had listened for quite some time as he voiced his opinions of the world, so he had quieted down. None had listened, except, of course, the old man.

The man in question had slid from his seat near the wall, and took a new one by a most sullen Corum. “ My boy, i have listened to your story. The world does seem quite unfair, doesn’t it?” the old man had said, with a strong voice that seemed oddly appealing to his younger friend.

“ Whats it to you?” Corum had replied, glad to have company but rude because of the drink. A drink that he was running low on.

Noticing this, the old man had placed a silver miza on the table, and ordered more of what ever Corum had previously been drinking. Quite the skilled conversationalist, the old man had no trouble talking to Corum. As he drank down half the pint of what ever foul ail was being served, the old man had patted Corum’s shoulder and spoke softly. “ The wizards at the University are fools not to take such a skilled young man as yourself. Perhaps... you would care to study the magical arts from a different teacher?” With this, Corum had smiled, not noticing the noise of something slipping into his drink. This was what he had been waiting for. The old man spoke of a place outside of town, and that if he was to teach Corum he should be met there within the hour.

The man had left, and Corum quickly drained his mug, drinking the very last drop before stumbling out of the noisy tavern. With great difficulty, he found his way through the darkness and drunkenness to the area the old man had described. Corum felt good, really good. Almost in a state of bliss, he happened upon the old man’s camp about ten minute’s walk from the city wall. If not for the drugs he had been slipped, or the beer in his blood, he’d probably have thought this venture to be a bad idea. He would have been right.

The clearing he was in was completely surrounded by trees, blocking view to the city, and more impotently, the city to it. Upon the ground was two odd circles, ones that seemed familiar some how. If not for his intoxication, he might have recognized them from a book of glyphs he had actually tried to read earlier that day. The blissful state of mind, however, had left his mental facilities quite useless as the old man put his hand on Corum’s shoulder from behind. The good feeling in his head soon felt bad as he heard something solid hit it, and he remembered little else for some time.

Corum awoke completely sober soon enough. He was unaware of much outside the pain in his head. It felt as if blood coated his hair, and he could not move himself. It was not out of weakness, as he was physically strong from working the forge. His arms and legs were bound, each tied to what felt like stakes in the ground, leaving him spread-eagled. His neck was also bound, so he could not look up or down. He did, however, make the mistake of looking to his side... to find the corpse of a man not much older then himself in similar position, in a runic circle. Upon inspection, he could barely make out the edges of a circle around him as well. It was then, when he could no longer bare to look at the body next to his, that he looked up into the expressionless face of the old man. His face had lost it’s smile, and his voice had lost it’s allure.

“ Hello again, good sir, i am glad you made it so quickly,” he said. “ We may finish this before dawn. I'm sure you are bursting with questions, but i’ll only say this. I am a wizard of some skill, and you are going to help me prove my mastery of the arcane arts. Unless, of course, you want to replace that two day old thing next to you. I can always find another drunkard for this...” and with that, he stepped from view. A few moments later he had returned with an odd book- one Corum recognized as literature on magic. Corum had heard of rituals like this. He violently twisted and pulled against his restraints as the old man- the wizard- read from his book. The Daek-Nuit had begun.