Interesting Turns of Fate's Quill

[Vexademus]

She roused from sleep gently, opening her lashed sleep-swollen eyes to the dark of her chambers. What had disturbed her? A sound perhaps? Something she heard imagined in her sleep? Unexpected had been visits from other beings and blessed ones so this could be something of that nature.

Sitting up slowly, she sniffed. The ability of mages was the sensitivity to magic, to the energy that surrounded the living. Vexademus didn't sense anything amiss. She slid to the edge of her bed and let bare feet hit the floor. The stone beneath was cool, cold to her softened soles. The naked caster stood from the warmth of the canopied bed and walked quietly to the covered mirror while scratching through that luxuriant white hair that beheld those shadowy black streaks; memoir of one of her mentors.

Standing still, she looked to the left, out of the window where the heated night with its sparkling cold stars twinkled mute with the secrets. What had awakened her?

The magess reached out to the silk sheet covering the mirror. Before that long nailed hand reached to pinch the fabric, it paused. Whispers sounded around her. The mixture of different sentences and words.

"...see you..."
"..come closer..."
"..follow.."
"...leave here.."
"...faster now..."
"..watching you.."
"..listen close..."

Those susurrations mixed together like snakes twining, twisting over each other and braiding chaotically without beginning nor end. That hand trembled and goosebumps traveled her naked body, from raising her scalp hairs to those pointed reddened nipples to further brace invisible caresses of that shivered feeling down past waxed smooth mons and even further down each thick thigh reveling of green winding mithril vine tattooing.
Her breath shook in and out as she tried to breathe oh so quietly so as not to be found.

But, whatever it was knew she was there.

"...hear you.."
"..don't run.."
"..see you.."
"...reach out.."
"..listen.."
"...almost there.."

Vex was almost holding her breath, respiration shallow and frightened. A sweat pinched her skin, itching sting of fresh perspiration breaking out all over her body, dipped between those small tits and biting pin-pricks at her back. The voices; she couldn't tell if they were male or female, of whatever race they were...ghostly tones conveying broken and scary locution. Confusion and unsurety doubled the hard sour pit in her stomach and she wanted to swallow, mouth too thick with anxiety to do so.

Active preservation kicked her mind and she reached out those tendrils of sensation to feel what magic was at play. Still, nothing.

Nothing...

She gasped, panic written on those plain features, something horrible widening her eyes and making her heart thump solidly inside her. Her mind screamed at her to run, to cast, to fight. She was frozen to the spot as her spirit sank like a struggling victim sinking down into dark watery depths, choking and gagging from the icy brine entering her lungs in scorching slow liquid gasps. The aethertongue felt like she was dying. WHERE WAS THE MAGIC!?

She couldn't feel it! Nothing. She couldn't feel it's pulse, that solid existence of it like sweet life running through her veins and connecting her to the planet was no more.

Then there was quiet. No more voices. Only a hum that started getting louder as if there was something coming. The actual feeling of her spirit beginning to fall as if she were tossed off the side of a sheer cliff, wind whipping past her ears with deafening speed.
Vexademus panted, her heaving breaths rising that small rib cage and squeezing it like some mockery of pit bellows gone askew too fast. In and out, in and out. Just as she was about to hit the ground with a gruesome wet crunch and spray of fine bloody mist...

She roused from sleep gently, opening her lashed sleep-swollen eyes to the dark of her chambers. What had disturbed her? A sound perhaps? Something she heard imagined in her sleep? Unexpected had been visits from other beings and blessed ones so this could be something of that nature.

Sitting up slowly, she sniffed. Was that the smell of clove smoke? 'Gaeadamnit, Infernis,' she thought, blaming her mentor.
'Do you ever get tired of teaching your student in the form of torture?'

She drew up the sheets closer to her nude scarred body and sighed a few times, reaching out to feel the magic threads that connected everything. The loom of which the aether coiled from and returned to thrummed in a satisfying way while the mage turned over in her bed and promptly, albeit grumpily, found a good position to find her rest again.

And on the wall across the room, where hung the covered mirror; the silk fluttered with a soft breeze. And the quiet whispers began once more...




Now that the Maddened Mage has dug her tendrils deep into the land of Nanthalion and has become established stubbornly, the Narrator wakes slowly from a long and restful nap. A warning to those who listen inside the quiet:
"The Eon Board is setting up yet another game and the Pieces will make Themselves known. Those who feel the pull will ultimately be invited to take Their places with the utmost of patience."