"Heh ... perhaps mere 'potential' was an underestimation of your ability, Alyrian. I had hoped to be freed of those mortal wizards with a vessel under my control. And here it seems I've become bound to you, instead. Tell me ... how can that be?"
Alyrian's eyes flipped open. The first thought that passed through his mind - how bitter, how merciless the cold was around him. His body lay upon a sheet of what seemed like endless snow, in all directions; in the distance, he could even make out what appeared to be two mountains of ice, slamming into each other with a terrible ferocity, sending an avalanche of frozen death onto any unlucky enough to be caught in its path. Where was he? How did he get here?
The voice inside his head spoke quietly, but not without a resounding air of superiority.
"Oh ... so being joined with one of my kind is not new to you, is it? This Phaedriel ... how clever, to use her own son as an anchor. But it seems you don't quite share my amusement with your mother as I do. A pity."
Vazbanicus. The name came rushing back, and along with it all that had transpired - his deluded state of magic addiction, his outburst at the enclave, his imprisonment and torture by the Thayan Master Alcazar Tel'Rune ... and his escape, thanks to Vazbanicus' intervention.
"You will find that I am much more forthcoming than she was, dear heart. How that pet name does rile you ... I promise, I won't refer to you as that again."
"How ... how do you know -- ?"
"Simple, Alyrian. We are joined together, our minds share this one body. Our past experiences, all our memories - they are like open tomes for each other to peruse, and yours is quite the read. Unfortunately for me, it seems you hold the reins to your physical form this time; it shames me to admit it, but your mother was - at least in this sense - a more formidable opponent than I."
Still trying to make sense of what happened, Alyrian stumbled to his feet and was immediately hit by a blast of unbearably frozen wind, taking the air right out of his lungs.
"Do try not to damage it too badly, my friend. After all, both our existences are tied to your form - and I'm certain you would not want to die here. Not here, not in the frozen wastes of the archduke, the Lord of No Mercy ... not in Cania, Eighth of the Nine, realm of Mephistopholes."
Alyrian's eyes flipped open. The first thought that passed through his mind - how bitter, how merciless the cold was around him. His body lay upon a sheet of what seemed like endless snow, in all directions; in the distance, he could even make out what appeared to be two mountains of ice, slamming into each other with a terrible ferocity, sending an avalanche of frozen death onto any unlucky enough to be caught in its path. Where was he? How did he get here?
The voice inside his head spoke quietly, but not without a resounding air of superiority.
"Oh ... so being joined with one of my kind is not new to you, is it? This Phaedriel ... how clever, to use her own son as an anchor. But it seems you don't quite share my amusement with your mother as I do. A pity."
Vazbanicus. The name came rushing back, and along with it all that had transpired - his deluded state of magic addiction, his outburst at the enclave, his imprisonment and torture by the Thayan Master Alcazar Tel'Rune ... and his escape, thanks to Vazbanicus' intervention.
"You will find that I am much more forthcoming than she was, dear heart. How that pet name does rile you ... I promise, I won't refer to you as that again."
"How ... how do you know -- ?"
"Simple, Alyrian. We are joined together, our minds share this one body. Our past experiences, all our memories - they are like open tomes for each other to peruse, and yours is quite the read. Unfortunately for me, it seems you hold the reins to your physical form this time; it shames me to admit it, but your mother was - at least in this sense - a more formidable opponent than I."
Still trying to make sense of what happened, Alyrian stumbled to his feet and was immediately hit by a blast of unbearably frozen wind, taking the air right out of his lungs.
"Do try not to damage it too badly, my friend. After all, both our existences are tied to your form - and I'm certain you would not want to die here. Not here, not in the frozen wastes of the archduke, the Lord of No Mercy ... not in Cania, Eighth of the Nine, realm of Mephistopholes."
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