Completed The Lesser Key of Telemachus, Part I

Telemachus

Telemachus

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THE COLLEGE OF ELBION
FIRST ORDER MAGE OFFICES

To be a Mage of the First Order was to be the lowest and least respected category of faculty member here in the College of Elbion. To be a foreigner who dabbles in conjuration - a study loathed and barely tolerated by the rest of the faculty - was to be even lower in the social hierarchy.

This was why Master Telemachus' office was one of the smallest and least inspiring, even by First Order standards. There was scarcely enough room for the desk, much less the two unwelcoming wooden chairs on either side. Bookshelves crowded the walls. Despite their run-down state, they did appear to be meticulously organized. Strange texts in foreign languages, various alchemical regents (and those necessary for summoning - a vial labeled "blood of angel" included), and scrolls. Large amounts of scrolls.

There was little in the way of decor. But there was a perch situated on Telemachus' side of the desk. It was currently unoccupied, save for savage claw marks. The air of the room was still and stuffy, though behind his desk Telemachus sat apparently unperturbed. He sifted through a pile of letters, placing some to his left and discarding the rest in an increasingly overcrowded waste-bin.

"Enter," Telemachus ordered, cold voice carrying through the chipped wooden office door before Maho Spahawk even had a chance to knock.
 
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The college of Elbion. Not a place Maho loved to return to, but for knowledge there were no bounds, and that included entering the great College. It's many great halls, littered with students rushing their way past, getting to one class or another, hoping to one day become great mages themselves.

He had hoped that he would only have to return there to go through their various tomes in the great library, still considered to be the largest collection of books on the Arcane in the entirety of the world. But no, today he had a special reason; seek out a member of the First Order. His companion Gerra and he had plans for the future, and his lack of magical power, toppled with his old injuries made it quite difficult to perform awesome feats of power, even with the great knowledge Maho possessed. A scholar he was, but a Warlock he needed to be.

He asked around, speaking to various high-order mages, enquiring on where he could find someone to speak with. He was directed to a man called Telemachus, who resided in the Mage Offices on the lower sector.

After working his way through the labyrinth of corridors and stairways, he made his way to the door, and before he could lay his hand on it's wooden frame, the word "Enter" bellowed from behind it. Wizards...

He walked through the door, and was presented with a very underwhelming room; small, uninspiring and had an odd oder.

"May i, sit down?" He suggested towards the small stall across from the Order member.

Telemachus
 
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Telemachus glanced up from his letters to behold Maho. A human. Elbionese, judging from his accent. And his clothes indicated that he was something of a traveler. Smelled like a sorcerer in his own right. Interesting that he would turn up here, then. "You may," Telemachus droned, returning to his letters.

He looked one over briefly before shucking it into the waste-bin. Then his full attention honed in on Maho, featureless eyes boring into him. The Sidereal Elf folded his hands on the desk.

"What can I do for you?"
 
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He shuffled around in his seat, the ethereal and dagger-like eyes of the elf peering deep into him.

"I've been searching a while for quite a rare piece of information. Couldn't find anything in the great library, and less than nothing on my travels.." He rustled through his pockets, and found the stray piece of paper he'd drawn on to illustrate what he was looking for:

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"I've been looking to 'improve' my arcane attributes exponentially. This isn't something i'd go to some of the higher college members for. I wonder if you may be able to help me with 'this'".

He lowered his head, as if to say 'Catch my drift?'

Telemachus
 
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"Ah."

Consulting with extra-planar creatures was not illegal here in Elbion. Neither was making deals with them in pursuit of power. It was just very, very disliked. As necromancy once was before it had been made illegal. The delicate art of conjuration did not necessitate as many corpses as necromancy, and further still was too obscure to whip citizens into a frenzy over.

The rest of the college knew enough about it to consider Telemachus a grifter and luddite, but not enough to make a concerted effort to eradicate its practice... Or his position here in the college. But even if it was technically legal, no one wanted to make it public that they were taking shortcuts in the long journey to power. Which is what Telemachus assumed was the reasoning behind this... Paper sketch he had just been handed.

"Barkas, the ledger, please," Telemachus said, gathering the remaining letters and bringing them to one side of the desk.

There was a rustling at the top of the shelves as glassware and tomes were knocked about. A crimson blur suddenly leapt out, a large tome held with gangly arms against its chest. Leathery wings spread at the last moment to slow its descent, and it landed with a crunch on the perch beside Telemachus.

An imp.

It was a small thing - about the size of a falcon. Small horns jutted from its head, and a tail that ended in a barbed stinger curled behind it. Barkas stared at Maho with burning red eyes even as it handed the ledger over to Telemachus. "Thank you."

Telemachus dropped the ledger on the desk, the clasp unlocking at the mere touch of his hand. It looked to be an old and storied tome, the same side as Barkas at least and quite thick. Telemachus withdrew the quill nestled in a pocket behind the cover and began turning through the pages.

"Have you or a family member (to your knowledge) consulted with extraplanar entities in the past?"
 
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He didn't expect the little imp to jump out and take the large and tattered tome from the shelf. It stared Maho down with it's small, sharp and piercing Red eyes. The Book made a large thud as it slammed on the table, it's weight reflecting the immense knowledge it must have held within.

Telemachus said:
"Have you or a family member (to your knowledge) consulted with extraplanar entities in the past?"
Click to expand...

what?

Of all the questions he was prepared to be asked, he didn't expect the question to be so formal and organised.

"No. Well, i don't think so. I was a.... well, i didn't know my family." He gave a nice smile, he preferred not to go into his past as a slave, as it cut too deep.

Telemachus
 
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Telemachus licked his finger and turned another page, "I assure you if they had, you would know."

The contents of the book were strangely organized. If Maho looked closely enough even as the pages flew by, he would see they were organized like... Forms. Custom forms? Bureaucratic records? But the language was in the runic script of the Sidereal Elves. Strange and sloping, elegant and fathomless. To a non-native speaker, anyway.

"Can you state, as descriptively as possible, the exact nature of the power or boon that you seek to acquire through this contract?"

Telemachus was still searching for a blank page. He had apparently been doing this for quite some time.
 
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"I can't tell you what i seek to do, for that would put my kin in jeopardy. However, i need to be able to hold extensive amounts of arcane energy, enough to move the very pines themselves, and escape death. I dabble in Dark Magic, and what i wish to do will require me to test the laws of magic, and i very much wish not to be corrupted. I need to become a sorcerer the likes of which hasn't been seen in Alliria for an age. I need the power of an Arch-mage tenfold."

He fiddled his hands, his anxious passions spilling in his speech.

"I am willing to do anything to achieve my goal. Even if it costs me my mortality. Even- even the very fabric of my being."

"I must become that which we are taught to fear, a Warlock. That is what i request Brother."

Telemachus
 
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Telemachus eventually found a blank page, smoothing it out before dipping the quill in ink. Although he moved lightly and meticulously, the desk trembled somewhat as he did so. "I see."

He had heard these sorts of requests before. Most people did not want to go into the details of why they wanted what they did. Some were more candid - vengeance quests: dead fathers, mothers, wives, husbands, that sort of thing. A few were candid despite the selfishness of their goals. Showing up siblings, competitors, parents - impressing paramours.

One could scarcely believe the amount of people who immediately attempted to test their newfound power on Telemachus 'just because.'

If he had to guess, this one was was having trouble paying debts. Maybe it was another vengeance quest. It was ultimately irrelevant to Telemachus, so long as the fees were paid at the end of the bargain.

"As your consultant, I am obligated to inform you that testing the established Laws of Magic is ill-advised, and may potentially lead to your death, regardless of extraplanar assistance," Telemachus pressed the quill to the page. The ink drained from the quill without moving, and Sidereal runes began to appear in several fields; black letters growing from nothing. "The requested 'power of an arch-mage, tenfold' is indeed deliverable under select pacts with select entities. I am happy to put you into contact with them."

The text stopped appearing. Telemachus replenished the quill and pressed it down again. It resumed.

"Your immortal soul will, necessarily, be offered as collateral. You may be asked to harvest a certain amount of additional souls in the name of the entity bargained with, the number depending largely on the duration of the contract and requested powers. You may also, or additionally, be expected to perform certain services. Upon successful delivery of souls and services, you may be eligible for certain benefits or an improved contract."

All of the fields were eventually filled out, except for one slot. Telemachus dabbed the quill in the ink once more and then looked up at Maho.

"Your name?"
 
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Harvest a certain amount of additional souls in the name of the entity bargained with...

Foolish to think that a price as simple as his soul would be needed to free the slaves of Cerak At'Thul. Being trained at the college, he fully knew that to earn such a power would cost countless lives, written in the tomes on Dark Magic in the catacombs of the ancient Library. Such a price was a heavy one, the heaviest of all prices.

I'm not a killer

At least, i don't think so...

He'd killed an Orc and resurrected him at the Settlements with Gerra, but nothing could prepare himself for the immense amount of death that could follow in his wake. He didn't even have a solid grasp on how long his task could take; days. Weeks. Potentially years of torment he could subject to those guilty and innocent to achieve his singular goal. To right those who wronged him.

"My name? Maho Sparhawk. My last given to me by the College. i know not of my birth heritage." Anxious, he shifted around in his seat once more.

"I am, well- knowing you're probably more schooled than i, i... i um. I am compelled to ask: do you think one can use dark powers to conduct good?" He had to ask, he wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't.

Telemachus
 
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"Many do not," Telemachus replied, somewhat cryptically. Good was such a relative term. Even the Naga must have thought their cause was one of righteousness. It was pointless to consider.

The last open field in the form slowly filled, likely with Maho's name. The request was filled out. Telemachus would soon send it off to be considered by a multitude of extraplanar entities. Some would doubtlessly ignore Maho's summons. Others would take interest, depending on where they say him fitting into their schemes.

Schemes was, perhaps, too mundane a word. These brokers were immortal. Ageless. They were beyond all concepts of time and this fleeting, mortal space - their agendas spanned millennia. Telemachus could only hazard to guess what would drive them to accept or decline a bargain.

But at least one of them always made an offer.

A line faded into existence at the very bottom of the page, preceded by another Sidereal symbol. Space for a signature, but not Telemachus'. Telemachus turned the ledger so that it faced Maho Sparhawk and slid it closer to him, holding out the quill with the other hand.

"Sign here."
 
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Maho gulped deeply. He didn't like making deals, having to trade one thing for another. And he could pretty confidently say that he had never made a deal with an extra-planar entity. He didn't know what the deal was gonna be, what he had to do, nor what the power he gains would entail. Either way, he was willing enough to sign.

He held the quill, a tool he hadn't used since he graduated from Elbion many years prior, slowly dipping it into the inkwell on the left of him, the ink dropping from the tip of the quill, dropping back into the well whence it came.

"Right. Guess i, uh-sign then...." He raised the pen, meeting it to the ledger, the signature "Hawk" being his favourite signing word.

The ink sank well into the ledger, almost looking as if it sparked on the paper as it went deep into the paper and it's many folds.

He shifted nervously.

"So... uh. What- now?"

Telemachus
 
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Telemachus turned the ledger back around to face him, and inspected the signature. Hawk. Just Hawk. Interesting. Different. But legitimate, and that was all that mattered. If Maho Sparhawk had any consternation over this bargain, the signature would not have appeared. The quill was enchanted to not allow it.

With a sense of finality, Telemachus shut the ledger. He wordlessly handed it off to Barkas. The diminutive creature once more pressed the ledger to its chest, flashed Maho a menacing grin, and fluttered back into the rafters - out of sight, back to the tops of the bookshelves.

The Sidereal Elf folded his hands on the desk. "Your request will be submitted through the appropriate channels. You may receive multiple offers. In that event, I will explain the benefits and ramifications of all of them in great detail to ensure you are able to select the offer most suited to your needs."

"This process may take up to several days. Do you have an address you are currently, or considering, staying at? I recommend you do not leave Elbion until I have had the chance to speak to you again."

Selling your soul - effectively, anyway - was not so easy or dramatic as stories often implied. These things took time.
 
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The small creature giving Sparhawk a giant grin put him on edge a little, almost as if he knew something he didn't...

In any case, it was done. He'd signed the papers, gave his signature, and his part to play - at least for now - was over. He thought the whole ordeal was going to be far more arduous, involving talking with evil deities, warlocks and devils. But no. He signed a few pieces of paperwork, and was told to wait a while. What a calming and humbling experience!

His residency? i don't have anywhere to live he thought.

"Well, there seems to be an Inn a short walk from the College. I can afford a room there whilst i peruse the College's collection of Books. Catch up on my reading!" He chuckled a little.

"Thanks for you help. I'll be awaiting your call." And with that, he began to make his way out of the college towards some local Inn. His wallet felt light.

I'm gonna need to make some more money once i leave...

Telemachus
 
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For a moment, he stared blankly at Maho. Then Telemachus realized that the traveler had chuckled nervously and realized he was making a joke. The Sidereal Elf smiled toothlessly - stilted - and it did not reach his eyes. "Of course."

Telemachus was familiar with the Inn Sparhawk spoke of: the Sloven Scholar, so named for its close proximity to the College and its frequently academic clientele. It served magisters of all walks of life, so doubtless Sparhawk would find a cheap room there if he hadn't already.

Telemachus waited for Maho to leave, and then returned to sorting his letters. There- that one was important. News from a hireling of his in the Reach...

---​
 
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God this Inn is awful.

He walked in four days ago. The Inn was run by a Dwarf named Nillkot. Horrible man. He dressed like he'd just been discovered off the street after being dragged through the mud by three different horses. He also smelled accordingly.

Entering, he'd been given an awful deal, basically being extorted out of his money for a week's stay! Not only did he get no complimentary Food for his fee, he was also given the worst room in the entire Inn. It was small even for small child. The timbers on the roof creaked and reeked with mould and mildew. There was one bed, oddly in the middle of the room, accompanied by a small shelf, and a stool in the corner. How...

Quaint...

He stayed there, eating nothing but maggoty meals for four stinking days. The water was misty and had a fog like complexion like an ale, and the ale had a clear, colourless appearance like water.

The only place he could reside himself to was the library. Magnificent of course, easy to take his mind off of the deal he'd made. Or, well, hadn't made yet.

Now, he sat in the lower hall of the Inn, with a soft chair that was good for reading in.

God he hopes his ordeal is over soon...

Telemachus
 
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"Hello."

Telemachus materialized behind Maho Spahawk with little warning. Sort of. He actually just moved very quietly, and in the dim and din of the tavern he was quite easy to miss. Without waiting to be offered, Telemachus seated himself across from Maho and produced another ledger. Smaller than the one from last time... It contained only two pages. But the cover looked much the same.

He placed the ledger on the rotting table and opened it, turning it to face Maho. "Two offers have been made available to you."

A relief: they were written plainly in the common tongue, by some sort of printing press judging from the uniformity of the letters. But rather than ink, it appeared they had been scorched into place. Fascinating.

The first offer came from Scyinthis, the Leper-Bane.

  • Lesser Duke Scyinthis, the Leper-Bane
    • Whose portfolio includes the Dead, the Dying, and Disease
    • Whose domain is the Ninth Ring of Kwasiwat-Homuc, the Subjugate Sphere of DYUS the Serpent.
  • Price: 700 souls
  • Methods of Service:
    • Directly kill people with necrotic/pestilence magic OR ritually sacrifice them.
    • Animate and unleash undead. (Souls added for every life claimed by the undead)
    • Cause outbreaks of disease. (Souls added for every life claimed by the disease)
    • Found cult. (Souls added for every current member of the cult)
  • Reward:
    • An immediate mastery of Necromancy
    • An immediate expertise in Hex Magic, Poison, and Disease
    • Increased Arcane Potential
  • Potential Boons:
    • After 50 souls delivered, you may be eligible to receive a Kwasling Skullmite as a familiar.
    • After 200 souls delivered, you may be eligible to receive knowledge of the Ritual of Lichdom.
    • After 350 souls delivered, you may be eligible to receive immediate mastery of one of the following: Hex Magic, Poison, or Disease (provided it has not already been acquired).
    • After 700 souls delivered, you may be eligible to have your current arcane potential doubled.

A fascinating choice - if Maho had any interest in straining the relationship between the living and the dead. And for only 700 souls as well. Well, 'only.' Telemachus supposed that was all relative.

  • Minor Count Imamu, the Fire of Lions
    • Whose portfolio includes Fire, Conviction, and Strength of Arms
    • Whose domain is the Sweltering Jungle, the Subjugate Sphere of PELASGIA the Orator.
  • Price: 1800 souls
  • Methods of Service:
    • Kill people with fire magic OR ritually sacrifice them.
    • Win a duel. (Souls added for every duel won)
    • Win battles. (Souls added for every enemy killed during the battle, doubled for victories - you must be the commander)
    • Found a cult. (Souls added for every member of the cult)
  • Reward:
    • Increased Arcane Potential
    • Inoculation against Non-Magical Disease
    • Immediate mastery over Fire-based magic
  • Potential Boons:
    • After 50 souls delivered, you may be eligible to receive a Fire Spiritling as a familiar.
    • After 300 souls delivered, you may be eligible to be inoculated against fire. Nothing will burn you. Nothing.
    • After 700 souls delivered, you may be eligible to have fire-based spells further empowered - melting steel and stone as easily as another might burn wood.
    • After 900 souls delivered, you may be eligible to have your current arcane potential doubled.
    • After 1500 souls delivered, you may be eligible to receive improved strength, stamina, and health.
    • After 1800 souls delivered, you may be eligible to have your current arcane potential tripled.

Only the ambitious or foolhardy accepted pacts from Imamu... But few could deny his rewards were quite tempting. Even at such a steep price. Excessive for an entry-level pact, to be sure.

Telemachus steepled his hands on the table. "I am prepared to answer any questions you may have."
 
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What have you gotten yourself into Maho?

You're better than this.

You know you are.

Are you?

He didn't know anymore.

The choices that sat in front of his were both equally terrifying. Maho could count the amount of people he had killed on his left hand. The number of lives needed for these contracts... it was asking him to become a killer. Not just any killer, a killer that'd be known from each corner of the world. His deeds would be in the history books. The loss of life would be great. Terrible, but great.

Maho, anxiously, turned his head to the first offer: Necromancy. He knew well of this art, and had only really dabbled in it recently. It wasn't something he took particular pride in, as raising the dead that simply wanted to rest is highly frowned down upon in Elbion. In the Falwood, one can get banished from their lands for using Necromancy openly. Causing death by disease. An awful way to die. They would suffer needlessly for days that felt like weeks, sweating in upmost agony, writhing in suffering. He couldn't live with that. He simply shouldn't live with that. What would Myles say he thought to himself. Well, he know what he'd say,

This isn't something my master would do.

He peered at the second offer to the right of him. Fire. Both a force for great good and great evil, known throughout the ages as an element capable of the greatest magical feats. A Warlock powerful enough could light the entirety of the Elf home-nation with their might. It was common knowledge to Students of magic that, within the right hands, flames can be a source of life, and a source of demise. The one true scale in the universe was one's fire. Sparhawk knew this well.

1800 lives.

That number made Maho sick to the stomach. Such a huge loss of life for such awesome arcane power. Sparhawk had lived and spent time in villages, working with the townspeople, herding sheep. These villages had a fraction of this. Could he kill such a large number of people?

Something deep inside himself asked: Well, with the right incentive, anyone can do anything...

A good point to think on. Could he go through it though? Making a deal with a supernatural entity? He knew what it entailed, he had no questions. He simply didn't know whether he could agree to it or not; to think that single piece of scorched paper could weigh so much. To weigh the amount of 1800 lives. A truly heavy price indeed.

He knew what he must do. Looking at the rough and torn ledger, he thought to Gerra. He had ambitions he needed to achieve. With this new found power, he could free his slave brethren. It would cease to be a dream, and become a reality achievable with his immense arcane abilities.

He was set. He ceased to think about the consequences anymore, and his head went blank. All he could focus on, was the thought of having the power to save those who've suffered for so long. 1800 lives, surprisingly, was a price he was willing to pay.

He grabbed the second ledger. It emanated heat, for some odd reason...

"I am willing to pay the price the Fire-Lord asks."

Telemachus
 
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No questions? Hmph. Generally there were some questions. Must have been something only an internal monologue could solve, given how long Maho Spahawk spent staring at the ledger. No matter. Imamu, the Fire of Lions, would blaze Maho's destiny across the stars. Hopefully whatever Imamu had in store for Sparhawk would be worth it.

"Very well," Telemachus said. He took the ledger back, tearing out the page with Imamu's deal scorched into it.

There was a hiss that cut through the air. Magic being released. Few would notice or care, but it was the sound of a decision being locked into place. Telemachus folded the parchment neatly - exactly, unnervingly enough - in half and presented it to Maho.

"The Fire of Lions will be made aware of your choice, but the pact is not yet sealed," explained Telemachus, even as he returned the smaller ledger to the folds of his robes. "Rituals must be conducted to allow him to breach the barriers of Arethil."

Telemachus stood and bowed respectfully. He was now dealing with a soon-to-be-servant of Imamu, after all.

"The material cost is two thousand docatto."

What? What was that expression? If making pacts with those who lurked within the stars were cheap, everyone would do it.

"When you have accrued the funds, you know where to find me."
 
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Where was he going to make up that Docatto? He had 1400 in savings, but not 2000. He simply couldn't afford it. Being a travelling Sorcerer with no real fame (apart from the villages to the west) couldn't ask for much in monetary value. He mostly earnt favours, whether it be food, shelter, a mount or various other things. Damn, he knew he should've thought before he came there.

Think...

Actually, he had taken a loan from Gerra when they visited the Blight-lands. 400 Docatto for the ride home. Of course he hadn't spent any of it. If Sparhawk was anything, he was Frugal. 1800 Docatto. Where was he going to make up the rest...

He definitely did not have any money left, as his travelling habits led him to spending much of it on the road. He was going to miss that... miss travelling without a care. Travelling with no real aim. He had a much bigger responsibility now; he had people relying on him. He had no choice. He had to sell it.

From under the Shawl hanging around his neck, he ripped a Solid silver necklace. It had elven in-scriptures on it, they concaved into the metal, having gold wiring through the gaps. It shone beautifully in the Sun, reflecting almost all light that touched it, blessed by the Four Elders at Falwood. It was a gift given to him after he left the hands of their training. To him, it's worth couldn't be measured in money or gold. It meant something very dear to Sparhawk. But the material was the material, and he had no choice.

"I think... i think these will- uh, make up the funds-" He laid out the 1800 Docatta he had saved, and his Elven necklace.

"If the necklace doesn't suffice, i can just- just sell it elsewhere..." God he didn't want to give up that necklace.

Telemachus
 
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Oh.

He carried that much money on him. That seemed... Ill-advised.

Though that sped up the process somewhat. Telemachus stepped forward again and took the offered necklace. Solid silver, inlaid with... Text from the Falwood elves. Beautifully crafted. If not worth the remaining two-hundred Docatta, then it certainly came close enough. If he were diligent in finding a place to pawn it, Telemachus suspected he could get much more.

Wonderful. The Sidereal Elf neatly stored the necklace on his person, then collected the offered money. Telemachus had not been anticipating getting this far today, but since he already had the money, he could move on to the next step. He had brought the tincture with him today.

"That will do."

Telemachus produced a small vial and handed it off to Maho Spahawk.

"In three days, drink this." Telemachus instructed, "I recommend you lay prone in your bed following consumption. The desired effect will take hold within the hour. When you awake, the pact will be put into effect, provided you give your agreement."

Many had come to Telemachus requesting pacts, only to break down at the last possible moment and refuse the deal. This was why he took his payment before handing off the tincture. There were generally no consequences for those who passed up a deal after entreating directly with the entity offering it... Generally. Some were more fickle - volatile - than others.

Where Imamu fell in that spectrum was beyond Telemachus' knowledge.
 
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"I... appreciate your help. I hope we cross paths again..." He took the ordinary vile from his hands. It was full of an equally ordinary liquid, clear in colour. It resembled water more than a potion.

Shaking Telemachus by the hand, he left his office, and made his way to the library in Elbion; he needed to read on the Deity he'd just made his deal with...

Asking permission from the Keepers of the Tomes, he was allowed access to some of the rarer and more treasured tomes. He'd forgotten how massive it was, the collection being the largest in the world, outweighing even the Falwood's collection. He sat there for hours, going over many different writings on various gods. Only one shed any light on Imamu. It was a very small passage, but it gave some reason to this rhyme.:

Imamu, The Fire of Lions. Known for offering Deals of Power to those of lesser Might. Deals of Godly power common-place. One may be cautious, his deals are rarely ever paid, the price greater than thinkable.

Makes sense. The power offered was one that could make an Average sorcerer into someone who could challenge the whole of Arethil with their awesome power. However, the price of 1800 lives was one so high, and so outrageous, that most thought they could ignore it's call. Those that did, forgot their soul was no longer theirs, and slowly they were eaten away at, dying decayed and twisted, a dead-husk with no substance or soul.

The next two days he spend thinking, pondering what to do. Although he'd already paid his 2000 Docatta, he was more than willing to put the vile down, and forget about the whole mess entirely. He could simply pretend it never happened, and try to help Gerra with what power he had. He could continue his normal life, setting the entire mess aside.

Who was he kidding. He had to go through with it. He had no choice.

On the third day, he lay wide awake in his bed, the vile laying next to him. He stared at it with cautious intent, the thought of him drinking it haunting him, skulking his Psyche like a bad dream. This was it. Time to take the plunge for power. He opened the small bottle top of the Vile, and - rather stressfully - downed the entire thing.

"Well, that was easy!" He chuckled a little. He then began to laugh a little more, until he was in utter hysterics. He had no idea what he was so afraid of! He rolled in his bed, tears of laughter running down his face, tears of relief. He decided to have a nice long rest, as he felt he more than deserved it.

Something was wrong. An hour into his sleep, and something began to take place inside his body. It started as a slight itch, progressing to a pain over his whole body. Soon, it felt as if he was being ripped apart, being pulled by opposite ends of the room. Writhing in agony, he let out a scream that filled the halls of the rundown Inn. Blood started to trickle down his neck, as a very large cut was being engraved into it. The marks gave off an unsettling red light, flooding the room with it's unnatural glow. He let out more equally awful shrieks, ripping his throat into shreds. Through his mind, strange sounds began to fill it, wandering faintly, which, given time, began to form a sentence. The words haunted him...

W e l l d o n e . . .

M y b i d d i n g i s y o u r l a w .

He woke up in a sweat. He felt incredibly hot, drenched in the sweat of his nightmares. Rolling around, a knock came to his door. He dare not answer it. A sigh came from the other side, and through the gap, a letter was pushed.

Gerra?

Telemachus
 
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