It all began a long time ago- in Heimerl's opinion anyway, maybe not so long by the calendar. Always fascinated with the occult, he'd been drawn to the spell book almost immediately. It was a dark green verging on black, hidden in a pile of worthless books. Even before touching it, Heimerl could feel its power seeking him out. Him! Who'd never done anything worthwhile in his life- in his opinion anyway- nor been anything important. The book wanted him!
As Heimerl touched the book, it seemed to him the book was sensing him, feeling him, getting a sense of the man who was holding it. He almost dropped it, but his fascination and realization that he was the person the book wanted were stronger than his repugnance. Slowly, he opened the pages that hadn't been touched in eons.
What mortal is it who opens my pages once more?
Heimerl shook with surprise and happiness as the voice erupted from the book. Instead of replying, he swiftly shut it, only to open it again later in the safety of his own home.
What mortal has now twice opened my pages?
Heimerl cleared his throat self-consciously, and spoke. I'm Heimerl, an Eleann of Esseneth.
Nothing happened. After a brief pause, the open book on Heimerl's lap spoke again.
I see you do not have the knowledge necessary to communicate with me. Take a plain ink pen and write upon me. Then you will have the answers you desire.
Heimerl went to the table, grabbed a fountain pen, and returned to the book. Grasping the pen in his firm, golden hands, he wrote on the open page, I'm Heimerl, an Eleann of Esseneth.
The ink flowed smoothly onto the paper, and appeared to sink in, while still showing bright and sharp on the paper. After a few moments, the book spoke again.
Eleann... I know the name. Truly, it has been a long time since one such as you has opened my pages. Heimerl, you say... hmmmm.... it is a good name- you may keep it.
Heimerl thought. I thought I was the one in charge? I may keep my name?! However, instead of exploding, he counted to ten and wrote, May I ask your name?
I have no name. Where I am, there is no need for such things as names.
Why not?
There is only I. There is no one else to have a name for. Except now you. And yet, I can tell that you do not think of me as I truly am. Therefore, I shall have no name.
Well, I must call you something. I can't just talk to a nonentity in a book!
Call me what you must. I will not respond unless you write upon me.
This was how Heimerl came to address the book as his He never found a good name for it- nothing seemed to fit. After hours more of questioning, the only thing he learned of the thing was that it truly was alone. Heimerl eventually came to the conclusion that it was outside of Time altogether- its only link to his world were the pages of his book.
Slowly, Heimerl spoke more and more with his He could go nowhere without the comforting weight of the book in his robe's pockets, could not make any decisions without consulting his book. Amazingly, his could sense when Heimerl was in public, and instead of booming out his responses, would either speak them quietly, or occasionally, write them upon the pages of his own book to communicate with his new protégé. And slowly, Heimerl fell under his influence, so that his cynicism, though ever-present, became exaggerated, as did his dissatisfaction with the world he found himself in.
Eventually, Heimerl convinced his friends to follow his lead. While he may have unknowingly corrupted them, something kept him away from Amaranth. She was too nymph-like, too joyful for his new goals.
Each new meeting, each new goal achieved, gave Heimerl the feeling he craved- satisfaction in a job well done. This was why he seemed drunk after every meeting- for a brief time, he was content. But it never lasted. His never let him rest on his laurels; he was always pushing Heimerl towards a further goal. And eventually, the ultimate goal was proposed.
Why should all the Eleann be equal in power? You know that some are smarter than others, some are simply more innately qualified to rule over the others- such as yourself. Why should others who do nothing be on the same level as yourself? Think on it- if only those such as yourself were to have the power to rule, you could make all the right choices; none of this sliding back into the past.
And Heimerl drunk up these words as if they were the nectar of the gods. These were the words his soul craved: knowledge and affirmation that he was the best. The real reason the world was in such straits, his reason told him, was because only idiots were ruling the world. He knew he could do such a better job than any of those rulers now.
You ought to find a way to decrease the power of others, leaving yourself alone in control of what you were born with. It is the only way to have the world advance.
Such words, poured every evening into a person's mind, can but produce results that make sense only to the one who hears them. And Heimerl was a ready receptacle for such ideas: disillusioned, arrogant, idealistic- these words filled him with a noble longing to improve the world- on his terms.
At the same time, Heimerl was strangely repulsed by the book that never ceased to fascinate him. He often wondered on his own how his came by the book; how it came to be found in the book. Was it placed within those pages for safety, or was it placed there to be found by just the right person? These thoughts never lasted for long, yet while they lingered, Heimerl found himself reluctant to write in the book with his now worn-out fountain pen.
In a sudden fit of caprice, Heimerl left his in his home before the last meeting. He knew everything; he didn't need help from the book. And so it was that his never learned of the existence of Amaranth, and so it was also that Heimerl spent his last night in Esseneth free of the weight of his He would never return to the Esseneth he knew.
