Moonrise
Magus
At precisely nine o'clock in the evening, Magus awoke. In a second, he was alert and ready. With a flare of magic, his bedclothes were flung aside and he floated to his feet. Another thought sent the brief purple loincloth that served for clothing in the early evening flying to his hand. Then, mind, body and spirit functioning as perfectly as always, Magus began his day. Sitting at the head of the dusty table down in the grand hall of his castle, it never occurred to Magus that he was alone. It no longer bothered him; he had not eaten breakfast, or indeed any meal, with another being in decades. He was long past such feeble human considerations. The Earthbound Ones had cared about company, and love, and compassion. They had nearly died and even when they had not they lived on the edge of starvation for it. If it had not been for the disaster they would have all perished, and the Enlightened Ones would have ruled supreme. Magus moved mechanically, letting his body look after itself while his mind focussed on his endless mantra of history. Magus took history very seriously. History was the source of all things. The Great Beast had its' origins in history. It had come from far beyond time. Maybe when he knew enough about where it had come from, he would know how to destroy it. Had Magus been capable of such a human emotion as satisfaction, the thought of the final completion of his goal would have stirred it within him. But Magus had abandoned emotion with his old life. His sister had died because emotions had ruled her mind. Fear, compassion, all the others. Magus knew his sister had been weak. Otherwise, she would have lived. He would live, and her mistakes would not be repeated. He would be ready. When the time came, and The Great Beast was confronted, he would be ready. Stepping out onto the battlements, Magus barely felt the cold wind on his lithe, well-sculpted form. He had never been bothered by heat and cold, his body could cope with them. He had only adopted the ridiculous affectation of clothing since he had taken to using minions. Fine garments had been the folly of the Enlightened Ones, the pursuit of the appearance of power over power itself. None of them had rid themselves of pride, vanity and egotism. They were weak. Magus had no time for those who gave in to weakness. And now, at last, Magus reached the end of his morning routine. For standing on the battlements of his castle, feeling the cold air on his body, his purple hair blowing in the breeze, Magus screamed. No human could scream like this. Magus had the scream of a monster. Creatures of the night, never seen by mortal eye, screamed like this when they died. For into this scream Magus poured all of the emotion he had left. His hatred, malice and anger went out of him like this. Only Magus could scream like this, for this was the scream of a man without a soul. Magus screamed like a statue, unexpected, sudden, but disturbing. Nobody, not even his closest attendants, knew about the scream. Magus kept it to himself. And when the scream had finished, and the last echoes died away, Magus was himself again - beautiful, terrible, inhuman. And he went back into the castle, to get on with his life.
Magus
At precisely nine o'clock in the evening, Magus awoke. In a second, he was alert and ready. With a flare of magic, his bedclothes were flung aside and he floated to his feet. Another thought sent the brief purple loincloth that served for clothing in the early evening flying to his hand. Then, mind, body and spirit functioning as perfectly as always, Magus began his day. Sitting at the head of the dusty table down in the grand hall of his castle, it never occurred to Magus that he was alone. It no longer bothered him; he had not eaten breakfast, or indeed any meal, with another being in decades. He was long past such feeble human considerations. The Earthbound Ones had cared about company, and love, and compassion. They had nearly died and even when they had not they lived on the edge of starvation for it. If it had not been for the disaster they would have all perished, and the Enlightened Ones would have ruled supreme. Magus moved mechanically, letting his body look after itself while his mind focussed on his endless mantra of history. Magus took history very seriously. History was the source of all things. The Great Beast had its' origins in history. It had come from far beyond time. Maybe when he knew enough about where it had come from, he would know how to destroy it. Had Magus been capable of such a human emotion as satisfaction, the thought of the final completion of his goal would have stirred it within him. But Magus had abandoned emotion with his old life. His sister had died because emotions had ruled her mind. Fear, compassion, all the others. Magus knew his sister had been weak. Otherwise, she would have lived. He would live, and her mistakes would not be repeated. He would be ready. When the time came, and The Great Beast was confronted, he would be ready. Stepping out onto the battlements, Magus barely felt the cold wind on his lithe, well-sculpted form. He had never been bothered by heat and cold, his body could cope with them. He had only adopted the ridiculous affectation of clothing since he had taken to using minions. Fine garments had been the folly of the Enlightened Ones, the pursuit of the appearance of power over power itself. None of them had rid themselves of pride, vanity and egotism. They were weak. Magus had no time for those who gave in to weakness. And now, at last, Magus reached the end of his morning routine. For standing on the battlements of his castle, feeling the cold air on his body, his purple hair blowing in the breeze, Magus screamed. No human could scream like this. Magus had the scream of a monster. Creatures of the night, never seen by mortal eye, screamed like this when they died. For into this scream Magus poured all of the emotion he had left. His hatred, malice and anger went out of him like this. Only Magus could scream like this, for this was the scream of a man without a soul. Magus screamed like a statue, unexpected, sudden, but disturbing. Nobody, not even his closest attendants, knew about the scream. Magus kept it to himself. And when the scream had finished, and the last echoes died away, Magus was himself again - beautiful, terrible, inhuman. And he went back into the castle, to get on with his life.