Deathless

Deathless Chapter Thirty-Four: Renerin

Chapter Thirty-Four: Renerin

I have done it. Where kings and emperors have failed time and time again, I have succeeded.

I have conquered Death.

After years of research, of twelve long years of toil and labour, I finally managed it. I've developed a spell to keep a being alive indefinitely, and even to raise those that have passed from the dead.

With this power I shall finally be able to achieve all that I have hoped to accomplish. I shall take my rightful place as ruler of Arlenia! Of Serenar, even!

The Mages of old write of the feats that they were able to achieve; to bend others to their will, to fly, to change their form, but I have surpassed all of them. I have been given power over Death itself.

The Arlenians started this war because they feared the Mages; they were afraid of us, of what we might achieve. And rightly so, for with this power, I will have dominion over all of them. I will have dominion over everything.

Swords and siege engines count for nothing against the strength I now possess. Even as the armies of Arlenia knock on my door, on Morsar, the City of Mages itself, they shall find no victory here.

Though I can hear the sound of  my supposed doom, of catapults hurling boulders into Morsar, into the Golden Keep itself, they have no idea what awaits them in Aranea Hall.

A power that anyone can scarcely can imagine. And it is all at my fingertips! Unimaginable power, right on the tip of my staff. So long as I live, and the gem of my staff shines bright, the Arlenians shall find no victory here.

They shall rue the day they declared war on the Mages of Morsar. They shall rue the day when in their arrogance, they thought they can triumph over the power that lies in the arcane. 

For today, I have become a god, destined for dominion.

-From the writings of Alvarin, the Last Mage Lord, dated 1083 2E, 

allegedly during the Sack of Morsar

Sirya's first thought upon waking up: It was fucking cold. She sat up and immediately felt the cold wind biting at her face, the frigid temperatures stabbing into her skin like knives. She gasped, and saw that her breath frosted into a white cloud.

Sirya raised her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow, and found that her hands were bound by a thick, coarse rope.

And then it all came rushing back. The bridge. The ambush. The capture. Fully awake now, she looked about her.

She was in a cage that appeared to be made of thick poles of wood, it seemed. Through the bars she could see the outside, a primitive-looking wooden hut with clean, well-kept walls.

The room they were in was simple enough, with five other cages, two of them occupied, and an opening opposite her that revealled a frigid nighttime, with snow blowing across the opening and into the hut itself with a vengeance, like blood spilling from a wound.

Sirya sat back, resting her back against the back wall of the cage. She saw Lindale and Vanya in similiar situations in the cages to her left and right.

Lindale, awake himself, had noticed that Sirya had been roused.

"Finally awake, eh?" Lindale said with a smile. "Took you long enough."

"Damnit," Sirya said without a hint of mirth. "What the hell happened?"

"We were careless," Lindale explained dejectedly. "There were ledges all around us, then. Perfect spot for a surprise attack. And we walked right into it."