Dreams of Fire

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Ridiculously Circuitous Plans
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Joined: Sat Sep 16, 2017 4:57 am

Dreams of Fire

Post by Ridiculously Circuitous Plans » Mon Sep 18, 2017 6:57 am

He awoke from dreams of fire.

Eyes wild and darting, he sat bolt upright, chest heaving like a bellows and rank, sour fear sweat soaking his nightshirt, making it cling like a second skin. An aftershock of dream induced panic flashed through him as the acrid smell of smoke hit his nostrils until he realized that he had left a candle burning on the bedstand and heaved a relieved sigh, licking his fingers to snuff what was now little more than a blob of barely solid wax and wick floating in a molten pool.

Foolish, Mortimer. Dream could easily have given way to firey reality.

Once his heart ceased its frantic hammering, he rose and stripped himself of the soiled garments, his fingers briefly rising to caress the raised skin of the brand upon his chest, the motion accompanied by a grimace as imaginary tongues of flame licked his memory. A shudder wracked his muscular frame and he forcibly pushed the thoughts and the dream from his mind. Dressed in only his smallclothes, he retrieved an aged, battered leather notebook from deep inside his pack and settled into a cross legged position on the floor in the center of the room, the notebook open across his knees.

The formula on the page was an all too familiar one; Mortimer had lost count years ago of how many times he had made the same attempt. It had become something of a morning ritual. A quarter of an hour passed as his eyes scanned endlessly over the arcane symbols, full lips drawn into a line of concentration, before he snapped the notebook shut and raised his hands, performing a series of complex gestures as his rich baritone voice filled the room with eldritch intonations. As he finished, there was the tiniest wisp of a feeling of oneness, of being connected to forces much larger than himself, his hands coming together to finish the final gesture, a minute flash of light sparking between them... and then nothing.

Mortimer clenched his fists, a flash of white hot anger quickly and tightly controlled, followed by a surge of bitterness. He could still remember clearly the day when that spark of arcane energy had filled his younger self with confidence, with hope, when it had meant possibilities beyond his impending life of drudging servitude. Those doors had quickly closed when it became clear that even after years of study, however, that spark, which should have been a brilliant, persistant light, was the limit of his abilities.

Mouth curled into a sneer, he tossed the notebook into the still open pack and rose smoothly, his eyes moving to the corner where his gleaming armor was stacked alongside various other garments. Dressing mechanically, he relished the feeling of bitterness, reveled in his years long failure to master the Art, much as an addict might savor the last few moments of painful sobriety knowing that the fix will only be all the sweeter.

Once the last of the plates was fastened, Mortimer straightened and called to the Power that now dwelled somewhere deep inside his chest, felt it embrace him seductively and fill his limbs with ancient might, his very skin with ancient strength and his soul with renewed vigor. The heavy steel plates encasing him were now light as air, his glimmering shield seeming a toy as he hefted it and slung it over his shoulder to hang at his back. Full lips twisted into an unconscious smile, he picked up his pack and strode purposefully out the door.

There was much to be done.

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