Theurgy: A Journey's Dawn

Prologue- The Herald of Change

It has been a long time since he has seen the light now.

He spent so much time within the earth, trapped in his own prison, of his own making and design. Tunnels and twisting corridors that snaked and melded together. Within lied thousands of chambers for various persons, and he somehow found the use of each. Even those with little will carry out their piece of the puzzle. Till he figured that the puzzle could not be any more perfect. He even designed this throne room. A dark hollow chamber, large columns lining its sides, draperies of red and black, and the blazing insignia of Talin that decorated each one. The main floor empty, enough to fit a thousand people abreast, laid bare with only a few servants walking aimlessly around, their hands seemingly uncomfortable without holding or fixing anything. Their white, almost mist-like dress makes them appear like ghosts, a partial truth in honesty. They were indeed far from human.

His dark eyes drifted to the door, large iron sets that would take a few bulls to open them. They were seldom meant to open, and he has not seen the sun in years it seemed. Not since that dreaded war. Where he was injured in his attempts, forced to dwell in the dark as the foul creature that he was. But why was he staring? He felt the need to wait for something, to expect the arrival of some sort. A face beyond the fanged, hollow stares of the servants, their flaming red hair glossing past his dark sullen eyes. Someone was coming, he knew it. He didn't know why this either, but he knew something bad was going to happen. He took a long, wheezing sigh, his entire chest flaming from the effort as if they had not been worked in a decade. Almost immediately, the servants jerked their stares towards him, staring blankly as if he suddenly appeared within their understanding. He's a slumped, red robes figure leaning forward slightly in the iron throne. His arms, which were rested on the throne, tensed against the arms of the chair in anticipation. While there was no moisture in his mouth, he licked his gnarled teeth. His hawkish nose crinkled as senses began to flood in once more by will alone. He wanted to smell, see, and hear. He looked to his left, where an ivory staff, carved in the form of several snakes twisting around a pole, and all resting their heads upon a white crystal carved as a flower. Faint memories arose, but mere images. fighting, death. A cacophony of rampage and pain flowed into his insanity with a wonderful ballot, that brought a sneering smile to his pale lips.

Suddenly, the iron doors were thrust open with tremendous force. The ghostly images of servants turned their attention there, their faces showing emotion for the first time, as he remembers. They seem to tremble, a terrible monster before them. Simultaneously, they all bowed, their faces nearly to the ground with their hands outstretched before them. The sudden burst of fresh, unsealed air washed over his bald head, and he nearly smiled from the experience. There stood in the entrance was a woman, her arm still outstretched from whatever motion she had just done. The other was tucked behind her straightened back, as she locked eyes with the man.

Whatever attribute he possessed, she contrasted easily. Her youthful figure was hidden by layers of robes and dresses that fell to her feet. Swaying black and golden fabrics finer than any merchant could sell comfortably. Her posture was proud and seemed to impose dominance over every other being in her vicinity. She too carried a staff, wrought iron fashioned into gnarled branches that stood as tall as she. He saw four gems embedded in them and had the sudden feeling of wariness as he lifted his gaze to meet hers. She looked upon him, not from respect but a challenge, a challenge he has known in the past. Her black eyes seemed to glow a fierce white as the flames flickered from their candles, though he couldn't tell if it was a trick of the light.

"It has been far too long Prime Noctum Umerius," she bowed as she delivered him his title, although it was stiff and nowhere as low as the servants delivered for her. "Your healings took quite some time. Those of Theurgy left you in quite a dangerous state nearly a decade ago. We were forced to retreat to the catacombs of Nekona. We of Talin have been waiting my lord."

Her voice was strangely soothing, like a mother mollifying her son. It relaxed his stiff shoulders a bit, but not much. He could not help but scowl at her, even if her eyes no longer met his own. He sensed motives outside of his understanding under that smile. A smile that didn't appear in her eyes.

"Nekona," he repeated in a cracking, dry voice. "Retreated so far in. The days lost meaning, and time became still. All the while, you have been keeping them docile. Telling them that I may rise, that my power will return to exact my revenge upon the clans."

She tilted her head. "My lord, I have done all to facilitate the success of Talin, and the goals set out by you nearly a millennia ago. However, they indeed have grown impatient. Those hardened by war still crave the tastes of blood and violence. They even slaughter each other, with none else to placate their desires. Those we have stationed outside of catacombs are on standby, but even they have trouble waiting for you my lord. They hope your recovery will come soon."

"And you, Hecate, what say you witch," he croaked. "Your magic has touched my body, yet I still lay crippled. How much longer must I remain."

She shook her head. "Not long, my lord. In fact, I fear it is imminent that it shall be complete. Since you first brought her into this guild, she wished for a world governed by a steady hand. And then I. I was there when the seas were dry and the mountain virgin. Where gods walked among men, and men were legends. She was foolish then, ignorant of what could be achieved, but not so on what was before me. You taught her such things. Allowed her these magics. And with them, I came to be. I had assured your life far beyond what was naturally due. But even so, I felt that the heights of such magic had not been reached. The magic of gods, and even beyond that. You told me those who delved into such things seldom return sane. But I have, my Lord."

His entire body tensed at the mere mention of the word "god". That word was the harbinger of ambition, challenge, and treachery. Power beyond what mortal eyes were supposed to know. Yet he pursued them as such. Pursued till he had grown old, his hair falling out and his skin wrinkled in sun. Built upon them. And then forbade them. The power, much like the halls, was twisted, truly not meant for mortal eyes. And that power birthed something quite terrible in fact. What he thought would be his ultimate weapon.

"Your magic betrays you," he said in a lower tone. "Nothing lies beyond the god's power except madness and destruction."

"Yes indeed, my lord," she lifted her head to meet again with his gaze. "And yet, here I stand before you. I see the world I wish for, within my grasp. Not as what I wish, no, but what it will be."

Suddenly, there was a searing pain that shocked his body. His heartbeat suddenly sparked as iron ranged in the silence, and his breath no longer inflated his lungs. A glowing white spear appeared in his chest, searing his skin and burning his clothes as a shower of sparks shot off around him. He trailed where it had come from, an outstretched hand was a symbol tattooed into her skin. Her eyes truly were shining now. She raised his arm to the spear as if to pull it out. However, as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared when she allowed her hand to fall. A gush of blackish-red blood spilled out from the gaping hole.

"The time has come, my master," she said, her voice rising. He jerked, and fell forward, out of the throne. She began to walk closer. "The time has come to reclaim order. The order that you lost. I have planned all these years, and you are not a part of it."

"You . . ." his croaky voice escaped accusingly. "You . . . you you you you."

He lifted one bony hand towards her, and a shower of flame was unleashed where she stood, a bar of yellow fire. The servants bared their fangs and hissed in a singular drone, but none moved from where they stood. When the fire finally dulled, and he recoiled his arm, the flames rolled away into nothing. For a moment, as the bright force of the flames faded, there was a shimmer of transparent green light that had encased Hecate. A twenty-foot circle was clear from any scorch or mark of flame around her. She herself was unscathed, still advancing as if just considering a twig in her way. The blue gem still glowed fiercely. The man began to wail, although not able to get much out through the hole in his lung. She finally stopped just a pace away.

"Please be calm, and give up your soul," she told him, stopping just before him. "It doesn't belong to you. A new era has come, and it comes to this day, to this hour. The hands of time will once again move, and by my hand and word. Now, all the pieces are set, and players of this game are readied. Now, I shall make the first move."