The Curse of Eternity

Death Seventeen

 Lord Jerrath's left lip curls and twitches attempting not to smile. It becomes increasingly hard when Desolation windmills her arms to prevent herself from falling on her buttocks. Desolation would have succeeded had she not swung her arm into a large, bottled-necked vase.

Lord Jerrath felt the instant her arm splintered; pain flooded like the currents of the Chimera Sea, angry and fast. Distress filters over his amusement and before Myorla and Ceres can react he uses his unnatural speed and strength to catch Desolation and move her out of the way, lest she falls and breaks another bone. The vase never touches the wooden floor, instead, it hovers in mid-air.

Through the corner of his eye, Lord Jerrath watches Myorla make graceful sweeping gestures and arching symbols with her fingers. Myorla is born into the oldest family who practiced the Hands of Cӱbreesia.

The most commonly used method is called The Words of Cӱbreesia. These marques are spoken and are the rudimentary form of rune casting. The Words of Cӱbreesia is the most commonly used method of rune casting but can also be cast with a silent word which is used by more advanced Will users.

The second form is called The Hands of Cӱbreesia and a form only the oldest houses practice such as the house Myorla was born. This form does not require the user to speak words or cast them with their mind. Instead, they use hand gestures to cast the runes.

The last is called The Dance of Cӱbreesia, a rare form that is only used by War Will users. The Dance of Cӱbreesia does not use written runes, nor are they spoken but portrayed through the body and weapons. There is only one known sect in Tiygur that practiced the style, the Battle Priestesses of Mherrideth. They remained to the south in the Ciybria Province. Their bodies undergo vigorous training to cast marques in such a manner.

Myorla completes her spell with a bouncing half cross, and the vase rights its self

"By the blasted Five," Desolation curses. "I-I-think I broke my arm."

"I know," he murmurs, voice low, silky and thick, "I heard it."

"You h-heard?" she asks, pulling her broken limb into her lap.

"I have exceptional hearing."

Lord Jerrath has no need to tell Desolation he feels her emotions and her pain.

"Oh, Mi-," Ceres chokes.

Ceres's seizures radiate off his back.

"Say Desolation like we were instructed," Myorla drones.

Ceres struggles to say "Desolation" several times but it comes out of incomprehensible stutters. On the fifth try, Ceres gurgles enough similar-sounding syllables that it satisfies the requirements of the curse.

"My Dyu's! That was much worse. Let me heal your arm," Ceres gasps.

"No, I will heal her as I am the cause of this hurt." And many others. Like a mother cradling a newborn, he gathers Desolation's broken arm in his hands.

Any other being would have felt the sensory illusion of spidersilk beneath their fingers but Lord Jerrath is the creator of the spells Desolation wore, thus he is not affected. Furthermore, he was born with the innate ability to see through illusions, even if the spells had been cast by another, he'd see through them regardless.

Thus, only he could see and feel through the spelled fabric. The smooth heat of her skin would have driven him to distraction if she were not in agony; all he wants is to end her pain.

'Dyu's, I can the heat of his skin and the scape of his callouses. Can no one really feel or see anything? Myorla and Ceres assure me that they can't and they have no reason to lie unless instructed to do so. Think dead Desolation, think dead.'