48th of Ymiden, Arc 717
Last night, he received a letter. It came swiftly, a dead crow knocking at his window with its beak, eyes nearly falling out of its socket. In its fragile, dead talons, it dropped a roll of parchment with a black seal in the shape of a symbol - one he knew to be the symbol of the Lich, disfigured and macabre in appearance. He already knew who it was.
Alistair,
Your mother is here, in these lands. I felt you here, you know. I felt you wandering so far away. Why did you not tell me that you were to arrive here?
No matter, I am a forgiving mother. I only ask a singular request of you and that... man of yours. I've heard tales of how you brought him into our strongholds, without even a blindfold to cover his eyes. You trust him a great deal, don't you?
If so, then he shall be obliged to help in this matter, and I must insist. I cannot wait for you to come help me of your own will, as you never often do these days. Instead, you touch lands where I hold no power... you drink and dine with the vileness of outer society...
I will have you see, tomorrow, what every man is when you bring out the falsehood from beneath him. You will help me in this matter, and you will see. The Coven is your family, not this entity who uses your body like a toy. You will see. Come to Shirnrad, south of the city of the Sacred Father. Come at first light.
E.
The mage exhaled. It was never wise to defy the mother's will - not when she was capable of finding him wherever he was. He was marked by her, almost as he was by Syroa, but with whispers that had drawn her to him and near exactly where he was. She always knew. She could always hunt him, always kill him, always use that sense to merely vanquish him as he slept. He had become an immensely powerful mage, greater than any other in the Coven. He was not far from surpassing Ellasin as he was now, and when he'd managed to acquire the right artifacts and advantages, that gap would surely close. She wasn't a physical fighter like he was - he could tire her out.
The problem was... she had the advantage of the night, of the sleepless, of the ancient and Immortal. For not a single moment was she truly vulnerable as he was, and the vulnerability he held now was what allowed her to continue to use him as she did.
The moment he no longer lived beneath her thumb, the moment he escaped the paralysis of that advantage of hers, he would be eradicated as a precautionary measure. This was a fight that he could not win.
"Fridgar," he called to the man after rising from his moment of thinking, shaking his lover and attempting to awaken him to the dawn's light. "Fridgar, we need to go... to Shirnrad, it's called. There's something we need to do; I can't do it by myself."
Last night, he received a letter. It came swiftly, a dead crow knocking at his window with its beak, eyes nearly falling out of its socket. In its fragile, dead talons, it dropped a roll of parchment with a black seal in the shape of a symbol - one he knew to be the symbol of the Lich, disfigured and macabre in appearance. He already knew who it was.
Alistair,
Your mother is here, in these lands. I felt you here, you know. I felt you wandering so far away. Why did you not tell me that you were to arrive here?
No matter, I am a forgiving mother. I only ask a singular request of you and that... man of yours. I've heard tales of how you brought him into our strongholds, without even a blindfold to cover his eyes. You trust him a great deal, don't you?
If so, then he shall be obliged to help in this matter, and I must insist. I cannot wait for you to come help me of your own will, as you never often do these days. Instead, you touch lands where I hold no power... you drink and dine with the vileness of outer society...
I will have you see, tomorrow, what every man is when you bring out the falsehood from beneath him. You will help me in this matter, and you will see. The Coven is your family, not this entity who uses your body like a toy. You will see. Come to Shirnrad, south of the city of the Sacred Father. Come at first light.
E.
The mage exhaled. It was never wise to defy the mother's will - not when she was capable of finding him wherever he was. He was marked by her, almost as he was by Syroa, but with whispers that had drawn her to him and near exactly where he was. She always knew. She could always hunt him, always kill him, always use that sense to merely vanquish him as he slept. He had become an immensely powerful mage, greater than any other in the Coven. He was not far from surpassing Ellasin as he was now, and when he'd managed to acquire the right artifacts and advantages, that gap would surely close. She wasn't a physical fighter like he was - he could tire her out.
The problem was... she had the advantage of the night, of the sleepless, of the ancient and Immortal. For not a single moment was she truly vulnerable as he was, and the vulnerability he held now was what allowed her to continue to use him as she did.
The moment he no longer lived beneath her thumb, the moment he escaped the paralysis of that advantage of hers, he would be eradicated as a precautionary measure. This was a fight that he could not win.
"Fridgar," he called to the man after rising from his moment of thinking, shaking his lover and attempting to awaken him to the dawn's light. "Fridgar, we need to go... to Shirnrad, it's called. There's something we need to do; I can't do it by myself."
