Dreams, his last shelter against the cruelties of life. He had complete control here, at least when it came to the scenes, and environment. Lounging in a kingly bed, he stared up at an impossibly high, and large ceiling. Right now, he dwelled within a castle of grandeur, one filled with all the luxuries, and trinkets, that he’d come across of during his many lives. None of which he had gotten to use, let alone own. They were the objects he’d witnessed during his times as slaves and servants.
Those were the most abundant memories to surface, but not all. He also got recollections showing things had been different. That he had been people of importance, yet the details failed to focus; they must have been so long ago.
His dream shook as fear entered his heart. Would he one day completely forget? Believe he had always been, and will always remain, a minion to others?
‘No. No!’ He thought desperately, clinging to the memories of old. He would remember, at least the key parts. He had been something more, important, honored, revered, and he would be again, someday.
A tired sigh escaped him. If only he knew what caused this to happen, maybe then he could fix this ever-darkening nightmare.
Instead, he took a deep breath, tried to relax, and took a moment to gaze upon the wonders around him. This place was how he had kept what little of his sanity left alive. Surrounded by ornaments, large glass statues, gadgets made by great thinkers. A realm of endless luxuries and pleasures. A place where he was pampered by the loveliest women he had ever seen.
With them, lounging on his bed, were various trays of silver, loaded with noble cuisines. He was tempted to try them, to force the delusion, but it never worked. The food, no matter how alluring, lacked something he couldn’t place, an extra flare that seemed missing. So they remained untouched, serving only as another background piece to ease his troubled mind.
Which shook, along with everything else, as the chiming of bells rang in the air. The signal that his body was about to wake. Instantly the rich surroundings dissolved away, and were replaced with darkness. He was left blind for a moment before he carefully, then forcefully, opened his heavy eye lids. The light stung, causing him to blink a few times till they adapted. Slowly, his vision sharpened enough to be of use, though anything too distant remained a blur. He was on his back, so the only thing present for him to see was the ceiling. Even hazy, he noticed it was glowing, or more accurately put. The elaborate designs that were carved into it, full of circles, triangles, and squares, were.
Even with the pieces blurry, he stared in awe, and wondered of the time it had taken to carve such artistry. More importantly though, was the question of why? If this was art, it would entail he was in a place of high standing, if not, then it made him worry. No matter how many lives he had lived, magic was always taxing.
Large projects involving it were only done for important purposes. A need that forced people to complete the work, regardless of the cost.
Yet he was looking at a ceiling that seemed drenched in wizardry, with the only purpose that he could so far notice, was to provide light. Not to say the runes weren’t doing a phenomenal job at this, and part of him hoped that was all the carvings were for. But the more skeptical part of his mind, was having none of that delusion.
Unless he had been born into a realm full of abundant arcane craft, this sight before him spoke of trouble. Trouble that would eventually be one of his many problems. He liked to think it would be his only major obstacle, but he doubted that.
At least for now, it was a distant dilemma, for he already had far more pressing concerns.
The splendor of being a baby, normally the most peaceful times of his life, was also the most boring. He was sure he’d gone mad from it at least once, given its simplicity. Since infant life is the culmination of three processes, sleep, eat, and poop. That was going to be his existence, for however long it takes for this breed to mature. He prayed to the gods that it would be quick, painless, and with as few missed meals as possible.
Already bored contemplating the trials of child life, he focused on studying his body. He began with his hands, since moving his head, which felt like a melon, was out of the question. After a lot of effort, given he was wrapped in a blanket, he succeeded. Held weakly over his eyes, he saw his hands had five fingers, one of them being a thumb. It was more than he was used to. But as he flexed and unflexed his digits, he could already tell it wasn’t going to cause him any trouble. However, the claws were. Even as an infant, if pressed, he could cause harm with them, worse they were not the kind that could be retracted into his fingers.
He would have to be careful, for if he wasn’t, learned patterns from another life, could cause him to hurt either himself, or someone else.
Moving his gaze, he studied the rest of his hands and adjoining arms. He had extremely pale skin, with light pink for his palms. But that didn’t look like it would last long. Already there was fuzzy hairs growing, and with the amount of it, it would encompass his arms, and the top part of his hands. Feeling his head, he noticed the same circumstance taking place, and discovered he had a short muzzle. His eyes were placed a part in the manner of a beast of prey, allowing him a large range of view. Yet oddly, when he focused his attention, he noticed depth to it, something only hunting breeds should have had. It was a pleasant surprise, and would be a bothersome loss whenever he left to the next life.
That is, if he remembered. Even now, with the full knowing that he had a life before this one, he couldn’t recall the details. All that came to him was a feeling of regret. It was so deep, and troubling, he pushed it away, and focused on the present.
He felt more of his head, moving his hands to where his ears were situated. Face scrunching up in confusion, then shock. He traced his fingers across ears that seemed larger than his skull, and as he felt them, he noticed the inside portions appeared rimmed with a wave like pattern.
‘No wonder why I can’t move my head.’ He thought, and maybe that was for the best, the ears were soft, thin, and flexible. The perfect material to go about smacking him in the face, if he tried sitting up and surveying his new home.
He would have to keep that in mind whenever he had the strength to move. For now, he was stuck laying on his back, boredom slowly crawling towards him. He couldn’t check the rest of himself, given the tight blanket, so that distraction was denied him, nor did he feel tired. Thanks to the induced sleep that had taken him, he now found himself fully alert and ready to stay awake for hours. So, with nothing better to do, he began the oldest game of all.
Waiting.
He liked to believe he had lasted hours before smacking his hands over his eyes and whimpering, but that was a lie. It is just, he hated the waiting game, it was always the same, and if he was honest about it, he rarely won.
Other whimpers began to sound out, growing in magnitude before ascending into a torrent of loud screams. His hands smashed into his ears, trying to spare them from the onslaught.
'I retract my complaint,' he thought as the screams increased. ‘I would really like to go back to the waiting game.’ He offered prayers; the words aimed at any god deigning to listen.
‘Why are they making so much noise? All I did was let out a small moan, this reaction is uncalled for.’ The infants around him disagreed, as their noise making continued to rise. His ears ringed, bringing with it a feeling of being pricked by a needle continuously. ‘It must hurt just as much for them.’ He realized, which meant he was in for a long, and painful anthem of screams.
Or not.
The torrent of wails died out just as quickly as they had come, ended in the notes of a soothing song. He could literally feel it washing away the pain with each lovely hum. The other children went mute, so much so, that they had probably been lulled back into a peaceful sleep. But him, even with the comforting melody, still wasn’t tired, nor would he let himself fall asleep, not before memorizing the tune. This was to be remembered, so peaceful and calming, it had to be added to his dream.
‘Perhaps there will be other pleasures like this to fill it with?’ He wondered. He could always use more additions to his collection. No matter how small it may seem, all played a part in keeping his demeanor stable. An oasis he called upon frequently when lives got too tough, and he needed a moment of splendor to revitalize himself.
In a lapse of memory, due to the wonderous hymn, he tried lifting his head to see who was singing. He was rewarded with his skull lifting by the slightest of margins before plopping back down, leaving his neck feeling overexerted. There was also the fact, that even if he had succeeded, he would still have failed to see his desire. The sides of the crib he was in were high enough that unless he was standing, they would obscure his view.
He huffed in mild protest of this predicament, but let it slide, focusing instead on the song once more. Sadly, it ended not long after, returning the room back to its silent ambiance. Boredom would return once the person left, but after what just happened, he had no intentions of complaining.
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‘Better dullness than pain,’ he concluded as he heard footsteps and the movement of cloth.
The pitter patter of paws on stone was the only sound breaking the muteness around him. The noise became more distinct with each passing moment, till finally a figure loomed over him. Big, onyx tinted eyes stared down, appearing somewhat crazed, and within them was white glowing irises. They were not large, and if the figure had been standing in direct light, he would have thought them a reflection. The oddity did not hold his attention long however, as his eyes were drawn to the ears. It was comical how large they were, but at the same time fitting. They draped down behind her, going passed the shoulders and out of his view. It had him take note of the rest of her, specifically that she was covered in gray fur, with a mixing of light brown, mostly found on the top of her head. That was where the hair was thickest and formed into a mane. There was a great deal of it, which had been pulled back and formed into a bun while the rest was neatly trimmed and combed. The robes she wore were also well kept, silk by the looks of them, and embroiled with noble patterns.
The sights removed any worries he had about dealing with cold temperatures. If he found himself trapped out in the elements, it seemed he would have a body, and clothing, to survive for a time.
The tilting of her head, and the odd look she was giving him, stirred him from his thoughts. Only now did he realize he had been staring up at her in a very un-baby like fashion. Plus, he hadn’t made a single sound since she had arrived.
‘Alright,’ he thought, ‘time for my well-honed skills.’
He outstretched his arms towards her, making what he hoped were normal baby giggles, and forced a foolish smile on his face.
A small mocking one formed on hers, as she reached down and caressed his cheek. He tried to wrap his own around hers, and begin forming a bond. Instead, she pulled away, her gaze already moving on to the next crib, and she left him a moment later.
If the cold woman had come back, or stayed a second longer. She would have witnessed his stunned look, and his arms frozen in the air before they weakly slumped back down.
‘That’s it? A small bit of touch?’ He thought numbly as the feeling of being out of place deepened. ‘What’s the matter with these people!’ He shouted within his mind, already feeling neglected, and unwanted. He was left to wallow in that feeling as the woman’s steps continued to recede from him.
Sighing, he got into the most comfortable position he could, and draped his hands over his chest. ‘Oh, waiting game, my old and hated friend, it seems it’s time to play again.’
***
Even after surveying the chamber, Zenjel still could not find what had caused the Newborns to cry out in a mass wailing. The situation had her feeling the touches of Frustration and Panic. More of the former now that her search showed nothing of worth. The little cretins had made her heart skip with all the racket they had produced.
‘Last thing we need right now,’ she thought while glancing about the chamber. ‘At least most have returned to sleep and seem healthy, except for that odd one.’ The image of him reaching for her, smiling without reason, had the Newborn marked as numb in the head.
Thankfully as a male, the ailment would be more a boon than curse. Once ascended into a Chanter, he would make for an easy Worthy to use.
A pulse within the air caused her vessel to go rigid, and her mind to freeze in thought. Her hands began to shake as her vision moved upward.
‘No, Giver no.’ She mentally cried as she watched the pulsating Wards begin to change color. Their hallowed white began to shift green, then, ever cursedly, some gave off the hues of yellow.
Nightmares were trying to get in.
‘But he said we still had time. They shouldn’t be here, not yet!’ She screamed inwardly as Fear nipped at her.
More of the Wards shifted colors as the pressure placed on them spread. Zenjel remained still, her eyes fixed on the Wards and her mind offering to the Giver that the threat would pass. She remained that way, breathing as shallow as possible, muscles locked in place. The tinting of Wards continued, but she noticed a pattern. None of the Wards went passed yellow, and the spread was happening too quickly. The Nightmare was not committing to a breach, it was mapping out the surfaces blocking its way.
Eventually the shifting spread enough to encompass the chamber. Once thoroughly searched she saw the prodding of their defenses move down one of the tunnels. Not long afterward, the pulsing stopped, and the Wards returned to their original state glowing dimly, their calming white trying to show that everything was fine. Her heart however, thought differently, as it pounded loudly within her ears.
‘Deep breaths, deep breaths,’ she chanted to herself. ‘These Wards, even of Lowly make, can perform their tasks. They're well maintained, everything is blessed.’
The vibrations continued to recede as she remained perfectly still. Only when the curst infused sounds left the area, did she relax. Her taut muscles loosened, and the energy they held ebbed away. She greedily sucked in the air, answering her vessel’s demand for it. Unfortunately, the act did not cause the same rush of vigor, since the Anima here was so thin, and distant from the Giver’s grace.
Still, breathing deeply, she made her way towards the exit she had arrived from. She glanced back one last time, then left in a quiet hurry when the Wards continued to display their holy white aura.
Her steps were light as she weaved through passages, mind clouding with Curses. ‘I’m going to wring Vernac’s neck, that joke of an Anointed,’ she thought as Anger formed within her. ‘Oh, we can wait a while longer, the Guards are holding them back,’ she mocked. ‘The lying fool!’
The Nightmares weren’t being hindered nearly enough, or at all, if the accursed things had time to start mapping out the settlement.
The thought birthed more Curses, which filled her limbs and had her almost racing down passages. The Lowly tunnels were soon left behind, and replaced with those covered in Wards of superior quality. None of the Guards barred her, nor Chanters that walked the worthy halls. Even her fellow Maids, those who had attached themselves to Vernac, did not impede her. All knew the matter was important, since she was the one heading to meet him.
By the time she reached her destination, she was so wrapped up in her own fantasies, empowered by Anger, Zenjel did not bother calling out to be let in. She opened the doors at her own accord and beheld Vernac, instead of working, slumped over his table fast asleep.
If it were anyone else, at any other time, and there was not the possibility of Nightmares crawling outside the walls. Her shouts of Rage would have had him crashing to the floor.
Instead, she followed Calm’s example, and walked over to his side, all the while pushing away Anger, who was urging her to slam his head into the table repeatedly. It was not as easy as it should have been, the images Anger displayed to her were so very tempting. But she was well trained and ignored the lure. Instead, she focused on the consequences that act would bring, no matter how wonderful it would have felt.
The Worthy shrieked awake when she placed a hand on his shoulder. Abruptly he pushed upright, nearly knocking them both over. He was sputtering “wha—what!” before she closed a hand around his mouth.
“Softer Vernac, the enemy is checking the walls.” She said, causing his Soul formed pupils to shrink and his fur to flare. Worst of all, he began shaking like a rumbling stone. If only he wasn’t a Chanter of such worth. Then the other Anointed would have put her in charge, or at least someone better qualified than him.
“But that’s impossible, I was assured they were being held back,” Vernac voiced, after she removed her hand. His words barely reaching what could be considered a whisper. His pupils danced erratically within his eyes, looking from wall to wall, expecting danger to appear at any moment.
“How many? How could they have breached the walls? I had them fully charged, they couldn’t have gotten in yet.” He began shaking even more, eyes focusing on her. “Were you followed? You, you didn’t lead them to me, did you?”
Fighting down Disgust, she kept her mask from showing any of her displeasure. “No, I haven’t,” she stated, softly brushing his fur to bring him to Calm. “The Wards hold Anointed, as the Nightmare hasn’t launched an assault yet. From my observations they’ve just begun mapping out our home.”
His shaking died down, replaced with Nervous laughter as he patted her shoulders. “Oh Zenjel, you shouldn’t do that to me,” more laughter and short breaths as he seemed to collect himself. “I was not bred, nor trained, to handle curst situations instantly appearing before me.”
She restrained her growing Anger. “Yet that is what we’re dealing with Anointed. They are at the walls, and we have few Guardsmen to patrol the tunnels, it will take only one unknown section to fail for Death to take us. That and we have over fifty Newborns to ascend.”
He winced at their mention, did he perhaps forget about them? “Yes, the Newborns, oh dear. Even with the Wards in place, that Chorus will make quite a bit of vibrations in the stone.” He said rising from the floor, and began pacing back and forth, a Lowly habit of his. Was it so hard to stand in one place?
“Yes,” she said straightening herself. “The Chorus, it would have been done by now, if you hadn’t delayed us with your talks of there still being time.” She bit her tongue, Anger had slithered its way out into her words, tainting them, making it sound like a mark against him, rather than pointing out facts.
Vernac stopped, then stared coldly at her, his muzzle creasing, teeth bared. “How was I to know the Guards were wrong, that the Scouts would fail their only task? Do you think me one of the Giver’s Senses, able to know all that’s to unfold?” He asked, as he walked up to her, a finger poking her in the chest as he continued. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you meddling in my affairs, giving orders to those you shouldn’t. Acting as if you’re in charge, well you’re not!” He shouted and finished that statement with a jab to the chest.
“But since you’re so eager to tell others what to do, go on, let everyone know to prepare the Chorus,” a smile spread across his face. “Especially the ones posted with the Guards at the very outer reaches of the tunnels.”
Her blood ran cold, her words shaky. “But Anointed, surely a lowly Scout should be sent to-”
“I gave you an order Zenjel!” His hands flexed and unflexed, the Channels carrying the Anima within him, guided by his soul, growing brighter. She cowered back towards the door, bowing as she did so. “I understand Anointed one, I do as you say."
His hands relaxed, and the light coming from him dwindled, a smile of Calm marked his face. “Blessed. Truly blessed,” he breathed out, Anger leaving him. “You know how I hate messes. Now hurry along, as you said, they're at the walls.” She didn’t reply, only hurried out the door, away from the dolt that was going to get them killed.
She quickened her strides, which almost became a run as she ventured further out, entering into the Lowliest of tunnels, those with Wards pulsing out warnings. Her vessel began shaking, the affliction growing worse with each step.
'The outer reaches!' she wailed in her mind. How dare he send her there like some Soulless. ‘I’m needed, My worth far above any Scout. I'll make him pay for this.' Sniffling’s of Worry and Panic pushed their way into her throat.
“If I make it back alive.”