Born to Do
Mozenrath sighed in irritation as the text in front of him swims in and out
of focus.
He rubs his temples, abandoning the book, which was just proving to be
fruitless.
Hell, everything was fruitless! He thought, slamming his fist on the
yellowed pages of old.
It was Destane's newly assigned shift in Mozenrath's education
His physical training, the battle skills, external manipulation, had been
discarded, his mental training being worked on in its place.
For now, his focus was on studying, reading, memorizing spells, learning
languages to read the magic charters from.
Mozenrath admitted it was a lot less dangerous to not be at the wrong end of
him and Destane's spars, but the only problem with the quiet retreat into
the study was…
It let him think.
And it was slowly driving him insane
If the pain wasn't the point of concentration on the outside,
Then it shifted to the turmoil inside.
Many a night Mozenrath had lay awake in someone else's bed.
He had given up trying to keep track of the time he was here.
The day's pass at odd intervals, there being no distinguishable change in
light and dark in Necropolis. However, one thing remains constant. It's a
feeling of desperate hope that perhaps it hasn't been so long. It's the
business like pushing away of doubts and fears.
But some will not go away so easily.
Like the gnawing guilt that the memory of Ahhmal is fading to more of a
belief than anything else. The only way he sees and feels in full Ahhmal is
in his lingering dreams.
He's tried many times to figure out a way to contact Ahhmal. Letters upon
letters were written to soothe sudden bouts of guilt away. He knew better
than to let them be seen by Destane, and so, with a little persuasion and a
little bribing, convinced a low level slave in the Citadel to deliver
letters for him, swearing the wrath of hell upon him should the girl open
them.
He hasn't gotten a single one back.
His throat constricts as he chokes on a lump in his throat that he didn't
even realize was there.
Its stupid, he had spent too much time crying.
It was stupid.
He knew how to get out of here, and it was simple. Finish his training.
Besides, maybe Ahhmal couldn't write back, hell, how did he even know he
could read?
He smiled in recollection of Ahhmal's behaviors, manners, ways and quirks.
Allah, he missed him.
If he was starting to get even a bit nostalgic, it was quickly stunted as he
heard Destane enter the room, silently as he always did,
I think he enjoys scaring the hell out of me, Mozenrath thought as he glared
accusingly at his master.
Master.
The word tasted like vile on his tongue.
But he provoked it in that he couldn't say anything else.
Before his punishment had began, he winced at the memory, rubbing at
internal and external bruises alike in memory, he had barraged Destane with
questions, perhaps in a pitifully desperate attempt to delay his comings.
"Why cant they say your name you fucking psychopath?" he has yelled, still
angry Destane had tried to kill him and it resulted in Amin's demise.
He was struck to the floor, an easy shot, as he was too tired and drained to
fight back.
Destane towered over him,
"You truly have no sense little kitten." he admonished; crushing Mozenrath's
hand he was using to get back up with the heel of his boot.
"How do you expect," Mozenrath said, growing with a wince as he yanked his
hand free under Destane's smirk," for your subjects to stay when you treat
them like your personal guinea pigs!"
He bit back a yelp when he was forced to his feet by a more than necessary
harsh grip on his arm,
"If you truly don't understand, then perhaps we should instill a new lesson
into your head." His expression was stoic as tendrils of his own magic
weaved up and around Mozenrath, hissing and crackling as if alive.
Mozenrath froze as they climbed higher and higher, not daring to move as if
to provoke the snake like formations.
He had to stay stock still as Destane lectured him.
" This is my kingdom little kitten, and as such, whether you like it or not,
those who reside in it are mine do with what I please. Its called active
ruling, a concept your mother may not have grasped. ",
He threw Mozenrath down in disgust.
The snakes reared; fully looking as creatures, and hissed, clamping down on
whatever they could reach in aggravation.
Mozenrath yelled in pain, attempting to throw off the jolting demons, but
his hands only grasped at air, they were magic, and someone else's besides,
and therefore intangible.
He tried to cast them off with his own abilities but failed to find the
concentration to as each "bite" made his eyes roll just a little bit further
up in his head…
Mozenrath shuddered, forcing himself not to think about it as Destane placed
a hand on the back of his chair,
Destane caught the gesture and smiled with just a hint of condescension.
"Cold little kitten?" he asked, his voice like barbed honey.
Sure, if you call being disgusted with the fact that when I woke I could
only call you master cold…
' No master", the very sound sickened him, he turned away so Destane
couldn't see the disgust on his face, intent on ignoring him with as less
risk possible.
He cringed when his hand was taken, into an impossible cold hold.
"It's faded…" Destane noted with a hum.
Mozenrath knew what Destane meant, it was a reference that his hand had gone
from the slick black scarring from the enchantment to the almost normal
paleness.
" Disappointed master?" he replied, too embittered at the moment to try and
keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
-Stupid kitten- Destane scoffed, letting his grip tighten if only long
enough to get a physical reaction of worry from Mozenrath.
" Now why would I be disappointed?"
Well that put Mozenrath off balance, as he had no answer.
" I'm actually very proud of you, I have sensed your powers growing of
late."
Mozenrath turned in his chair, searching Destane's eyes for mockery or
untruthfulness. When he found none, he allowed himself a quick surge of
pride, veiled behind stoicism he used as a mask of safety.
"Thank you master." He said in a measure tone.
" But what point is a growing power if it stays locked inside you?" Destane
hummed, bringing up Mozenrath's incapability to transfer magic out of him.
It was not as Mozenrath was stupid or incompetent, bringing magic in a body
out wasn't about understanding, it was just a normal process that progressed
at the body's own rate and success. But if Mozenrath could learn his way to
the skill, he would have by now, Destane thought with a mental chuckle.
Once the kid had resolved himself that accomplishing was the only way to get
out of his schooling, he had practically threw himself into his training and
studies.
But Destane knew it was more than that.
The more he had watched the teen, the more he had begun to realize, while
Mozenrath failed to, that part of the reason the son of a catling was so
immersed into his studies was that, well, he had grown to wanting to.
The boy was exceptionally brilliant, adapting himself to the situation and
making the progress of his education his obsession, far beyond what Destane
required.
Destane knew put any enjoyment or fulfillment Mozenrath got out of his
learning was put under obligation by the prince. It kept the boy raw with
defense, which, almost corruptly, is what he wanted. He had become
habituated with pain, with everything he hated about his situation, and
therefore could not stand to have it doubted in any manner, especially not
by him.
He hated Destane, and whether he was trying to hide the fact or not, it was
evident to Destane himself. He saw it in every smoldering gaze he was given,
every poison tipped glance, but there was something terribly amusing about
it, something so entertaining that it kept Destane from knocking subtly into
that pretty little head of his.
It was amusing, because as suffered as Mozenrath countenance was, it missed
something.
He planned to correct that.
He turned with a smile he only knew the meaning of and beckoned Mozenrath
follow.
"Well, Come along little kitten."
Mozenrath frowned lightly into his plate, silverware making that queer
dragging sound as he scrapped it over the china. He spared a darted, quick
glance up through his bangs, caught sight of Destane's preoccupied smile,
and darted his stare back down again.
Destane mused to himself to buy the boy a hair band
He should feel proud that it took him to totally distort the young man
across from him.
He had been offered Mozenrath relief, a break from his studies, a chance to
relax.
A nice meal lay in front of him, literally laid out on a silver platter,
with the reassurance of a visit by his mother tomorrow, a touch back into
the life he so adored, it seemed.
And yet, so corrupted, so tangled was he in every mental web he wove, he was
incapable of enjoying it. His was suspicious, on edge and thoroughly
uncomfortable.
Destane smiled, knowing it was his corruption that made him this way.
Almost made him proud, really.
He set down his glass harder than he intended, coming upon a conclusion, but
not too drawn into himself to laugh lightly as he watched Mozenrath jump at
the sound.
"Mozenrath".
He looked up; surprised at the use of his real name instead of the pet name
Destane was so fond of using.
He tested the water.
"Master?"
"Humor me and recall what branches of magic we have covered."
Mozenrath raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, before answering almost
in the form of a question.
" Potions, Astronomical Influence, Illusions, Spell Casting and Weaving,
Healing, Crafting…"
"Stop" Destane said, holding up his hand to prompt him to do so.
"Do you know what magic we haven't gone over, I do believe it suits you, if
you'll follow me…" He got up unceremoniously, throwing down his napkin in
his empty seat as he left, an almost childlike enthusiasm oozing from every
pore, and although it matched his boy like appearance, it certainly did not
"suit" him.
Mozenrath rushed to follow him, curiosity getting the better of him. Destane
lead them through the furthest corridors furthest from the front of the
Citadel, deeper into the surprisingly dark yet dry depths of a staircase
spiraling until.
Mozenrath threw up a hand; the sudden light a painful burden. They were
outside, a plain and small wooden door swinging shut behind them. Mozenrath
didn't realize how different the air inside the Citadel was from outside
until he felt the knifing pain of breathing in overly fresh air.
When the pressure stopped, he searched out where Destane had gone, finding
him perched on the edge of a ravine, cutting deep into hardened sand, the
back of the Citadel looming almost bending over the pair.
Mozenrath felt less offended by the harshness of the unfamiliar bareness of
the sun's baring light under the shadow of the brooding palace.
"Necromancy, Mozenrath, is an art of the dead, an art for the dead, an art
dealing with the dead, but", he added with a feral grin, "preformed by the
living."
" What matters of the dead concern the living, master?" Mozenrath quipped,
honestly interested.
"Vessels kitten, easy, disposable transference."
If any of that was supposed to register, Destane assumed too much.
But he knew that. "Let me show you".
He turned towards the pit, holding his hands over it and was still, eyes
questing to close as within the minutes that followed a wavering of sorts
surrounded Destane's hands.
But it was more than that; Mozenrath could feel it, a growing presence and
all around air of change, of movement, of happenings. Its like not having to
turn, he mused, to know that someone has entered the room, to just have to
feel a change in the air.
Mozenrath closed his eyes, as an odd, pleasantly bee-like humming filled the
air, so soft it took ears qualified to hear it. It was oddly familiar, he
thought as his head fell back to experience it all better, like the
comforting hold of something stirring, his hair being lightly kicked up by a
sudden wind.
" Look little kitten", Destane said, a whisper feeling necessary.
Mozenrath looked back down in the pit in amazement as he saw the leaf like
rock at the bottom begin to move, jump from its place, something was pushing
through.
A hoarse gasp escaped Mozenrath, the air now noticeably stale, as he watched
a peeling, molted hand push up through the ground.
He backed up a step as an arm followed from down below, but was stayed by a
strained, if only a little, grunt by Destane, he turned to find the man
visibly quaking, a bead of sweat forcing its way past a bulging temple. His
outstretched palms were encapsulated in black.
Mozenrath found himself transfixed as he watched a rotting, crouching shadow
of a human being raise himself out of the ground that threatened to sink him
back in, distantly aware he was watching the dead being rose.
It looked up at Mozenrath with a baleful look of despair inhuman.
And suddenly, with a whoosh of breath on Destane's part, the shuddering pile
of bones collapsed.
" Isn't it amazing little kitten, that we, as mortals, can put a bit of
ourselves into the dead and therefore play Allah, if only for a moment?
Would it not feel exhilarating to dance at the gates of hell?" Destane
asked, a childlike sparkle of accomplishment alit on his face.
But Mozenrath didn't catch the look; he was still staring at the pit in awe.
"Would you like to try?" Destane leaned forward to ask in a whisper a child
might use if he were telling some delicious secret.
Mozenrath looked up, fully enthralled with all that had past.
"Yes master, very much so"
Destane guided him to step forward, perched at the very edge of the ravine,
Mozenrath digging the heels of his shoes into the soft sand to gain
purchase.
"Still your breath," Destane instructed and Mozenrath was grateful that
those crusty old tutors had taught him at least one thing useful.
Destane hummed approvingly as he observed Mozenrath's breathing take on a
rhythmic quality.
"Now, if you can, bring your magic up as far as you can, No, relax your
posture, just relax, let it happen naturally."
Mozenrath himself felt like humming as the pressure in his body, spreading
from his core and out, grew and pushed almost high enough to be felt at the
inside of his flesh. He breath grew a bit more labored as he pressed and
forced his own magic to build at a point just below release.
Destane let his own magic feel out the change in Mozenrath's, pushing his
chances as he said silkily into the concentrating boy's ear…
"And this is as far as you always get, hmm?"
They both knew the answer that Mozenrath's problem with magic interfered
with it ever getting out of his body.
Destane was surprised however, when Mozenrath breathed resignedly,
"Yes".
He noted the slight edge of self disappointment in his apprentices voice,
and said soothingly,
"Its quite alright, with Necromancy, well, you'll see, Now, close you eyes,
I want you to find the corpse down there, I wont ask you to bring up a new
one, this about reanimation, and the one I used will work just fine."
Mozenrath looked at Destane incredulously as man was settling his arms into
position over the pit, some of the mood that appeased them earlier lost.
"How do I find it if I cant-"
"Close your eyes and you'll see".
Mozenrath huffed indignantly, but did so, falling back into the set up of
teacher and student.
"Now, you remember where he was?"
"Yes."
"Picture him there, see it inside of your mind, feel out his presence as if
he were alive as anyone else, his aura, what we all give off, may not be
magical enough to be noticeable, but its still there, even death cant take
away that signature feel around a person. Now find it."
Mozenrath at first stared frustrated at the inside of his eyelids, feeling
particularly stupid, until he let Destane's words sink in. He could feel the
aura around Destane; it was still shaking with an unstable quality from
earlier, than something smaller, like the last echo, made itself know. He
pursued it…It was the corpse's. Frail as it was, it was there.
Destane saw the look upon his pupil's face and knew he had succeeded this
far, everything starting to fall into place as the air around Mozenrath
moved, ready and waiting.
"Now that you know where it is, grab ahold of it, wrap the magic that
resides in your mind around it, you can do it, I assure you that there's
enough, don't let it go to waste boy!"
Mozenrath was silent as Destane watched and with a violent buck on
Mozenrath's part, he knew the prince had triumphed thus far.
"Open your eyes, but don't let go, and see."
Mozenrath did and was thrilled to see the corpse on the ground shaking, even
if minutely, he noted pleasingly that the air around him and Destane was
alive in the way it had been when Destane had tried.
He turned to see a sort of pride in his master's eyes, but, loosing
concentration for a moment, he was yanked forward.
Destane grabbed Mozenrath's shoulder and yanked him back, letting his hand
stay there.
"Now," he said as he saw Mozenrath's gaze dropping in almost a tired
fashion," You must pull on that aura you have hold of. Bring the aura to the
surface and the body will follow."
Mozenrath immediately attempted to, then gasped as his hands shook with a
new strain. He continued to pour everything he had into his efforts, a
roaring grew in his ears, but he could hear Destane as loud as ever, could
almost feel as his body grew numb from the outside Destane's hands slide
down his arms, gripping his hands,
"C'mon boy! Don't relent!"
Mozenrath couldn't see as every sensory nerve was alit with the efforts of
dragging that corpses aura back into the world of the living. His power was
torrent inside him, rocking and pulling, and ocean of forces ungodly.
Destane moved close, keeping the boy from falling into the pit, as he was
lost to his task.
"Your fighting Satan boy! Fighting for that soul! Give it everything you
have!"
Mozenrath did just that, rearing back his powers, eyes shooting open,
visionless but white, and suddenly the fight was gone, the strain there, but
the struggle gone.
He looked down as his vision returned to see the corpse standing once more..
"You did it boy!", Destane said in a strangely hushed voice, watching as
Mozenrath toyed with his accomplishment, ebbing the flow of the living dead
man below's soul.
A new light, a new ember to be cast into the torrential fires inside
appeared in Mozenrath's eyes.
"Congratulations Mozenrath, you're a necromancer."
Dean