Aleksandr Sanders woke up with a start, his back drenched in sticky sweat. The cool breeze from an open window, blowing up the curtains as it go, sent a shiver down his spine. He had a strange dream. His head felt uncomfortably heavy, as though a ton of weight was atop it and doing its best to reach the floor through his skull. He did not know if his headache was due to the dream or that of something else. Maybe it was that bourbon he drank or that leftover pizza, or maybe it was that nasty concussion he had a week back from fighting a deranged centaur. Whether or not it was the dream or something else Sanders was fairly sure that he woke up because of the awful headache.
It was not uncommon for him to have bad dreams, horrific dreams were a common theme every other day for him, but this was different. It was not a particularly ghastly dream, as far as he can remember, there was just something odd about it. Something that he could not place a finger on. In the dream he was talking to an old snake, it wasall curled and comfortable on a big leather armchair, and there was a thick black book floating lazily between them. The snake was not particularly big as to illicit a scream nor particularly small to be easily dismissed, just the right size to have a conversation with and not feel intimidated. Sanders did not know why he could tell that the snake was old nor really remember what they were talking about when he woke up. The only thing he can remember was that the snake was giving him the book and that he sort of accepted it.
The curious bit was that it all felt real, like it was not just a dream but a part of a half remembered memory. What was even more curious was that Sanders was sure he knew the snake and that they were very close. As though he was talking to an old friend who, though some time had passed since their last meeting, he was still very fond of. So far as he can remember he was never friendly with any snakes.
Sanders leaned over the side of his bed and took out a bottle of pills he got stashed in the bedside table drawer. With hands shacking due to the headache he popped open the bottle and downed a couple of painkillers. Times like this makes him hate vanilla mortal medicine, they are slow to act and sometimes does not even work well. As a wizard, he should have a stack of his own brewed tonic lying about for home remedies and whatnot’s.Unfortunately, he never got the knack for Potions and he dare not trust what other wizards sell over the counter.
For some time after Sanders was still sitting on his bed and trying to recall what the dream was about. He was sure it was something important, but for the life of him he just could not remember what it was. When the alarm rang-out at half passed five Sanders gave up, he hauled himself off the bed and into the bathroom for a good relaxing bath. It had been months since he had one, his busy schedule only allowed time for quick showers.
He had no work for the day – one of those rare times when he can just stretch back and relax – and he was looking forward to having a great time. He had it all planned out: spend the morning lounging around the house and catch up with his readings. Then by late afternoon, go to the nearby pub, The Donkey's Nipples, and be pissed drunk with some of his friends.
Sanders was enjoying his warm bath when he sensed something off, the kind of feeling that usually come when someone was trying to contact him. He quickly got out of the bath and noticed that his silver ring, which he placed on the sink, was throbbing a distinct shade of blue. Sanders put on the ring and gave it a swipe; the pulsating light settled down but remained glowing.
“Yes?” said Sanders grumpily. He always despised it when his little luxuries were interrupted, but work is work.
“Sir, the Triumvir Incanus has a new directive for you,” came the melodious voicefrom the ring. The communicationsdepartment always getCursors with silken voices to call people up during early mornings to keep ruffled feathers to a minimum. An angry man was one thing, but an annoyed wizard, especially an Athar, was a whole different ball game.
