Post by Unseen on Jul 6, 2008 20:42:13 GMT -5
If he had still been human, and thus had been capable of regular, unemulated emotion, Unseen would have found himself dumbfounded by the very idea of having virtually unlimited control over his arcane abilities. Rather, he wouldn't have, as he wouldn't have been able to comprehend that idea in its entirety. Surely, a Weaver in life could not possibly gain such power; simple analysis revealed that this this kind of magic required an unimaginably expansive mind, and in the form of a Shade, Unseen's consciousness was all but infinite.
Taking this into consideration, he had determined that the art of Weaving was too fundamental and raw an approach to magic to be practiced in conventional form: one does not simply repeat the same evocations over and over in order to 'practice' Weaving. Instead, meditative means are most effective; the more the Weaver becomes aware of their mental limits, the better they are at targeting and employing Thread. With that kind of practice essentially a waste of time to the perpetually enlightened Unseen, there was something he could do: test his limits.
In life, Muryllis had heard things here and there about dramatic political changes in wizarding Spain, but, in his depression, he had turned his back on the problems facing his world. After much consideration, Unseen realized that he cared much less about the situation, no matter how much it could affect him. Such was the Shade's fluctuating mental state; the random changes ultimately pointed towards the final favoring of chaos and unrefined, uncorrupted evil. He no longer had reason to randomly desire the derailment of order; he simply fancied it for what it was. As such, his next target was the Triangle Tunnel.
With Unknown's structured desires no longer clouding his thoughts, Unseen was free to follow the wishes of his own pulsing, blue heart-Thread. Random invasions of peasants' minds showed that the Tunnel had just entered a state of uneasy peace; Lord Azrael, a figure he could recall from the tangled memories of his old life, had taken over organized establishment with his army of Inferi, at the same time allying with Fenrir and his band of lycans.
Lycans. Wasn't somebody once dear to him a lycan? Some girl, he recalled. No matter; relations were of no importance to him.
His destination was the Tunnel, then; not that that called for much of a trip, as he phased with relative ease through the ground, imagining what he could assume to be the feeling of soft, cool earth. Mid-flight, though, he thought up an excellent way to test himself on yet another level: distance. Weaving was, simply put, a magical style limited only by imagination. Unseen's ethereal form grinned.
Miles away, deep in the underground network of passages that made up the renowned Triangle Tunnel, Azrael's Inferius army had begun to grow in number, though marginally. The Risen guards dotting streets and corners were joined by reinforcements; abominations just like themselves, these new ones were in every way similar, and even managed to infiltrate the command link.
One of these Inferi walked into a shop, just as its owner was locking up for the night. He was startled, but expected no less from something so vile and sinister. He was still quite surprised when the Inferius, its eyes glowing, walked up and squeezed the man's neck until the cervical vertebrae collapsed and pinched his spinal cord. A young woman was, at that moment, coming up from the cellar with a small barrel of wine for dinner; her father was thrown on top of her, and the two of them toppled down the stairs, their gargled screams heard even out on the street.
Similar events unfolded throughout the Tunnel. Some Inferi scaled walls to throw lounging citizens from their balconeys, where others simply broke doors and windows. A number of Inferi had broken into a distillery and smashed through walls and barrels; the sweet scent of liquor mingled with the stench of Inferius flesh and human death.
If he had had a physical spine, Unseen would have felt a shiver of joy run down its length as he considered what he was currently doing. In life, the suffering of others had brought him pain, but only now did he realize that it was simply an attempt by his own deteriorating code of morals to cover up the joy. Oh, it brought him such pleasure, what he was doing now. How pleased he was to finally see Lord Korodin's lessons on psychological terror for their true worth!
Taking this into consideration, he had determined that the art of Weaving was too fundamental and raw an approach to magic to be practiced in conventional form: one does not simply repeat the same evocations over and over in order to 'practice' Weaving. Instead, meditative means are most effective; the more the Weaver becomes aware of their mental limits, the better they are at targeting and employing Thread. With that kind of practice essentially a waste of time to the perpetually enlightened Unseen, there was something he could do: test his limits.
In life, Muryllis had heard things here and there about dramatic political changes in wizarding Spain, but, in his depression, he had turned his back on the problems facing his world. After much consideration, Unseen realized that he cared much less about the situation, no matter how much it could affect him. Such was the Shade's fluctuating mental state; the random changes ultimately pointed towards the final favoring of chaos and unrefined, uncorrupted evil. He no longer had reason to randomly desire the derailment of order; he simply fancied it for what it was. As such, his next target was the Triangle Tunnel.
With Unknown's structured desires no longer clouding his thoughts, Unseen was free to follow the wishes of his own pulsing, blue heart-Thread. Random invasions of peasants' minds showed that the Tunnel had just entered a state of uneasy peace; Lord Azrael, a figure he could recall from the tangled memories of his old life, had taken over organized establishment with his army of Inferi, at the same time allying with Fenrir and his band of lycans.
Lycans. Wasn't somebody once dear to him a lycan? Some girl, he recalled. No matter; relations were of no importance to him.
His destination was the Tunnel, then; not that that called for much of a trip, as he phased with relative ease through the ground, imagining what he could assume to be the feeling of soft, cool earth. Mid-flight, though, he thought up an excellent way to test himself on yet another level: distance. Weaving was, simply put, a magical style limited only by imagination. Unseen's ethereal form grinned.
Miles away, deep in the underground network of passages that made up the renowned Triangle Tunnel, Azrael's Inferius army had begun to grow in number, though marginally. The Risen guards dotting streets and corners were joined by reinforcements; abominations just like themselves, these new ones were in every way similar, and even managed to infiltrate the command link.
One of these Inferi walked into a shop, just as its owner was locking up for the night. He was startled, but expected no less from something so vile and sinister. He was still quite surprised when the Inferius, its eyes glowing, walked up and squeezed the man's neck until the cervical vertebrae collapsed and pinched his spinal cord. A young woman was, at that moment, coming up from the cellar with a small barrel of wine for dinner; her father was thrown on top of her, and the two of them toppled down the stairs, their gargled screams heard even out on the street.
Similar events unfolded throughout the Tunnel. Some Inferi scaled walls to throw lounging citizens from their balconeys, where others simply broke doors and windows. A number of Inferi had broken into a distillery and smashed through walls and barrels; the sweet scent of liquor mingled with the stench of Inferius flesh and human death.
If he had had a physical spine, Unseen would have felt a shiver of joy run down its length as he considered what he was currently doing. In life, the suffering of others had brought him pain, but only now did he realize that it was simply an attempt by his own deteriorating code of morals to cover up the joy. Oh, it brought him such pleasure, what he was doing now. How pleased he was to finally see Lord Korodin's lessons on psychological terror for their true worth!