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The Waygate
Prologue

Prologue

  In the warm breeze of Spring that was nearly transitioned into Summer, brown dry leaves fell to the ground below – gently descending upon the form of Delris who repeatedly traced the fresh inscription of a gravestone. Through his dark, sunken eyes, only a distant gaze remained as his slender fingers continued to follow the path that they had for so long that even the withered man had forgotten.       

  “I tried.” He murmured through pursed lips which stretched the skin of his hollow cheeks thin. The man’s voice softly fell in a shaky rasp, as if his voice were the true rustling of leaves, “But nothing seemed to work.” Reflexively, his brow furrowed as his hand flinched away from the revered slab. He tried to lick his lips, but the dry surface of his tongue caught itself upon the man’s chapped edges before he gave up on the gesture, “Nothing I did could save them.”

  A chill swept through the fragile man as he pressed his wrinkled forehead against the freshly carved headstone, attempting to say things with spoken words that could only be expressed through anguish of the soul, “Nothing I did could save you as you fell, like white autumn leaves as your pale, expressionless faces gazed at me.”

  He sat in silence for several moments – an eternity in his mind – before rising to protesting joints. Slowly, he shambled from the cemetery as the two gravestones remained as the sun set against the trees – the entirety of the gravestone which he had traced feverishly was blank except for the simple epitaph of, Lady Illyana: We never deserved her. Frostfall 104 – Shade’s Rest 134, 4th Era. The remaining space was left to the ravaging fingers of time, for Delris had none to spare to carve a memorial that would’ve been fit for his late wife.

  Beside her gravestone, would be a smaller one which had yet to been carved. The earth surrounding the child’s grave was scattered as if a madman had fell upon it with bare hands.

  The man wove his way mindlessly through the dead landscape, feeling the stinging of branches he had been too self-absorbed to avoid scraping against the exposed skin of his arms and face, “It has to work.” The raspy tone fell from his lips once again as he reached the once elegant wooden door of his estate. All that remained was a splintered barrier, with once decorative glass that had since become covered in a thick grime obscuring what lied within from the outside world.

  “It must work.” He said, the voice of the man that laid within the wretched husk rising from within, “It will work.” Gently he pressed his hand against the worn door, shoving past it without so much as testing the knob. Within the derelict manor, the only light that illuminated what laid within was from the door that slowly moved along its hinges, moving to and froe against the howling persistence of the twilight’s breeze. 

  Through the darkness, his form shifted unnaturally – as if being pulled along by strings, but recoiling as one withered hand brushed against the wall of the stairwell.

  We NEED to help them! The distant voice of his Illyana called out to him from the depths of his memories.

  “There is NO helping them!” He shouted in response, forcing his foot to the next step, a scowl of yellowed teeth glistening through what little light fluttered through the windows above.

  Why won’t you try, Delris? They trust you – we trust you.

  “I can-“ Delris paused, his eyes falling to the dust riddled stairs, “I couldn’t save them – or you.” Through gritted teeth, he clawed his way with fetid nails up the bannister.

You couldn’t stand and watch while people suffered. That wasn’t you.

  “Now look at where we-” He shouted, his voice echoing through the empty house in a haunting chorus as it bounced from wall to wall, “I.” He corrected, his gaze darkening as reality cascaded around him for a brief moment, “Look at where I am.” He was alone, he was always alone – subject to the judge, jury, and executioner of his mind – forever on trial attempting to find peace through the justice of his conscience. All he’d ever find were the demons that had grown within himself – warping him, his soul, and what shred of humanity he had left. 

  “N-nobody is here.” Delris mumbled to himself softly as he ascended the remainder of the stairs, rising from his thoughts, before disappearing into the dark sanctum of his personal chambers, “Nobody’s ever here.”

  If there had ever been the stench of decay within the spacious room, Delris had long since become accustomed to the grotesque, stomach churning scent. It came with the territory – living in the Shrouded Forest there was always a wayward corpse that had been left to rot for fear of contracting the disease if they got too close.

  Save him. Illyana’s voice said softly within his diseased subconscious.

  “I will, my love. I have to – for you.” The man said, stepping closer to the table at the center of the room. Upon the worn surface was a soil stained sheet which obscured rhythmic, arcane pulsing from the small, bloated form beneath the sheet. Pinning the cloth upon each corner were four partially melted candles – each burning with a low, blue spectral flame which illuminated the markings.

  Delris approached, cautiously before lifting his hands to the ceiling – an occult wisp of blue trailing from each individual finger as his aura flared – enveloping the room in a spectral shroud of blue Arcana, “I would like to make a deal!” The proclamation came off in a short, hasty plea which chilled the air around him – snuffing out the flame of the candles individually before cloaking Delris in total darkness.

  So, you’d like to make a deal. With me? Answered an intangible force that tugged on the fringes of his mind, Why so, Delris? Have you forgotten the last time we met?

  Delris stood his ground – a feral gleam snuffing out the desperate humanity that had begun to surface, “I need more power.”

  More power? He was answered, a sick mocking tone filled the room, You already have some semblance of my power. The haunting chuckle returned, gradually escalating to erratic laughter, You can’t do anything about the dead – the dearly departed. Am I correct, Delris? The voice mused – as a thick cloud of smoke formed across the table. Within moments – a man leaned upon the other side – his black eyes staring stoically at Delris.

  The Arcanist furrowed his brow, peering at the man, recognizing it as himself, “I’ve never known you to take physical forms before.”

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  That’s because I don’t.

  “Then what are you doing now?” Delris stated boldly, arms crossed.

  I am displaying a mirror yourself – of your soul. When last we met, you held a white soul. A soul of integrity. A soul that wanted nothing more than to do what was just. The creature paused, appraising the Arcanist beneath his scrutinizing gaze, now your soul is black, warped and twisted by the humanity you failed to save.

  “Enough!” Delris shouted, slamming his fists against the table, “I summoned you to the Material Plane to make a deal – not to be criticized by an abomination like yourself.”

  Oh no, that’s not how this works, Delris the Mender. No, no. Not at all. Silence filled the room for several moments before the haunting chorus of the doppelganger resumed as his slender digits traced the outline of the boy’s form from above the thin sheet, A badly decomposed corpse. It died an unnatural death – twisted by disease. Much like most of those who used to live here in the region of Midland, yes? It paused, giving Delris a toothy, fetid grin of yellowed teeth, You’re asking me to elevate this corpse above all others who perished in the same way – you know that, right? What of your wife? I know you loved her dearly.

  “This deal isn’t about her – keep her out of your wretched mind – I just want the boy back.”

  Boy? The creature said curiously, peering at the filth-stained sheet, I didn’t know you had  son, Delris. Through squinted eyes, it gently drummed its fingers across the corpse’s torso where the glowing, Arcana saturated markings were etched into the stiff, hardened flesh, What would I find if were to just… It trailed off, peeling back the sheet, …peel this back. The doppelganger was stunned – gazing upon the symbol, Six seals, and a circular formation dictated by the various elemental runes. It grinned at the silent Arcanist, A black soul, indeed. I’ve met others wanting to make this exact deal with me before, but always for themselves – always for power. You? It cackled, a disgusting, unholy sound, You’re wishing to subject your son to the Waygate – and it’s not for power. It’s for life.

  “I know what I’m doing.” Delris finally said through gritted teeth – his nails splintering from how deeply they dug into the worn wood of the table, “I understand exactly what I’m doing.”

  You don’t know what he’ll come out as, Delris.

  “I do if I make a deal with you.”

  What would you have to offer me in exchange then? I can’t accept a black soul as payment. Though, perhaps we can come to some form of agreement. It nodded, rubbing its hands together slowly, Yes – an agreement – an agreement that no sane man would make when undergoing a deal of this magnitude.

  “What do I have to do?” Delris growled, “Do I have to serve you? To unleash a magnitude of chaos that would dwarf any prior war?”

  No, Delris. I said I can’t accept black souls as payment – even as servants. As for chaos, you’ve done more than enough of that in this region. Dealing with souls has a price, and sometimes it’s paid with blood so that the wheel can finally stop turning. Gently, the doppelganger tapped the boy’s indistinguishable corpse, Your son has a white soul – I can sense it floating aimlessly within the Soul Stream.

  “I am NOT giving you my son’s soul in exchange for his life.”

  What if I were to say that it wouldn’t be immediate. Perhaps it would be a transaction that accrued interest over the years? The creature clicked its tongue against the roof of its mouth, Or perhaps he lives a long life, dies happy, and I extract my toll – no extra fees. It shrugged, shaking its head, I’m not sure, and you won’t be either. It grinned – its black eyes darting gleefully around, I will honor this bargain, though. You’ve already done so much in my service without even knowing it, Delris. It extended its hand outward – a hand that mirrored Delris’ perfectly, Let’s make a deal. 

  The Arcanist stared at the hand – lost in the inner trappings of his mind. How could he subject his son to the Waygate – and bargain his soul to bring him back to a life that he had already been ripped from? What if he wasn’t the same boy as he had been in life? Questions bounded across the horizon of his consciousness until, finally, he reached forward and clasped the hand firmly.

  Excellent.

  The melding happened in an instant – the distinction between Delris and the occult being faded completely as his body was no longer his own. Regardless of how much willpower the man had mustered, he felt himself fade away – melting into something more. His vision was gone – and all he could manage to see was an ethereal stream of blue stretching off towards the distant horizon of never-ending darkness. His mouth opened to scream – to hear anything to acknowledge that he still existed – but through the perceived silence he found that he could not hear his own, disembodied voice. In its wake, what he mistook as silence were the screams of thousands of lost souls crying out as they were ushered towards their oblivion.

  Enjoying yourself, Delris? The being taunted – its voice as clear as the jovial chirps of Autumn Finches in Kur during an evening stroll, Does this shatter any notion of afterlife that your people may have indoctrinated you with? His life’s energy recoiled as the ghastly cackle penetrated his mind once more, Don’t worry, Delris. This isn’t the end – at least – not yet. There’s many things that I’ve yet to show you. After all. It paused, For what I’m getting out of this bargain, I’d rather not leave you feeling slighted.

  From deep within the dreamscape, Delris felt his entire being plucked forth from the endless stream of departed souls begging for release. As he was forcibly removed, he felt other lost souls attempt to hold on – begging to be brought with him – but without the strength to hold on, they faded away into the darkness until nothing more than an ethereal blue speck remained against the endless oblivion that awaited them.

  In the wake of his escape, images flickered through his mind. Each individual memory flickered through his mind in the blink of an eye, but in that moment he felt as if he were the center of everything. In one single moment, the secrets of his forbidden art had opened to him – almost as if a veil that had been covering his mind had been uncovered. Though, in that same moment he saw the rise and fall of countless civilizations each filled with language and architecture he had never experienced before. Civilizations that had left no ruins, or had fallen so long ago that the chances of them ever being uncovered were slim to none. At the center of it all, a single individual stood – each time holding a different face - but always marked with the same eldritch symbol.

  In unison, a thousand voices cried out deep within his mind, Beware the Waygate!

  Then, as quickly as it had begun, it had stopped. His vision returned to reality – and the leering eldritch orbs which had stared at him mere moments before had faded away – the only thought on his mind was the cryptic warning that was rapidly fading, Beware the Waygate.

  Reaching for the table, he used it to support himself as he shakily rose from the floor. He felt the same – or at least he thought that he did – but he also felt worlds apart. He was human still, yes, but he felt like he had become something more within the span of a mere second. In parting, the distant wisps of smoke from across the table faded away into nothingness as the haunting voice echoed one last time through the room, A pleasure, Delris. As always.

  “At what cost does this come?” Delris softly whispered, barely loud enough for only himself to hear, as his hands rubbed wearily at his face – pausing momentarily as he noticed the intact form of his child upon the worn, splintered table.

  “Son?” He said – astonished as he saw his son on top of the aged surface. His skepticism faded as he went to his side aside, gripping his only child by the shoulders before shaking wildly, “Wake up! Wake up, my son! It’s me, it’s your father!” Delris stammered, choking on his words as tears began to stream down his face, “Please. Wake up.” He said, weeping softly as he stroked his son's face. It was soft and warm, and although he could feel the faint pulse of blood through the boy's skin, he was met with the same silence that he had found when he screamed, begging at the empty darkness, "Wake up." Delris softly said, his hands tenderly rubbing his child's face, "Don't leave me alone." 

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