Post by Mury 6.0 on Aug 26, 2006 22:54:45 GMT -5
Once more, the scene flashed before his closed eyes, flaring up his eyelids with the power the images contained. Headmaster Talon and the Prefect Roan entered the dueling hall... Talon and the Redeemer exchanged words, after which the Headmaster attempted to take Muryllis out with a Petrificus Totalus. The spell was useless; his robes, issued by Unknown, merely absorbed the potent charm. Then another exchange of spells, then the girl stepped out between them... She tried to knock some sense into me, he thought, but how useless an attempt it was. Paying no heed to the Unknown One's orders, he began to twist a spell that would kill both Roan and Talon, preparing for the inevitable explosion of his 'borrowed' wand; his hand was raised, and he brought it down for the killing blows...
Scorp!us stepped onto the arena, and the rest of the events remained shrouded, covered by the misty haze created by Unknown. 'Let him pass', he whispered through the deadly charm that filled the Redeemer's body. 'I need him here'. Then pure blackness; a light tug at his mind was all he could remember, and he was out. Out like a light... 'Let him pass... '
Then moments later... or hours... or years... or moments? He sat bolt upright in a soft, white bed that he would later recognize as that of the school's hospital wing, a bed he was no stranger to. Pushing aside the frantic memories of duels he had been in before, a single thought pounded at his mind - the thought of Unknown. What the hell is going on? A scream escaped his lips, but it was a silent one; he had no memory of sound, none except for his heartbeat at that moment. Something was happening to Unknown.... his mind screamed in protest as something was slipped into it with the painful ease of a knife piercing the flesh... 'Let him pass...' Then the darkness came back, welcomed by his aching mind...
Life came back to him in slow, seamless stages... first the steady heartbeat (his? someone else's?), then an odd, unfamiliar scent in his nostrils (death? blood? flowers?) Then came the light. It was refreshing, a welcome relief from the throbbing pain that had consumed his cranium. The cause for the pain was soon found... subconsciously, Muryllis had resumed his mental assault of that dreaded charm, and the death of Unknown (not yet known even to the Redeemer) had made it easier. Soon enough, that assault proved successful; weeks later, though he had no idea so much time had passed since the beginning of his coma, he could feel his mental attack puncture the magical charm. In essence, he was finally using his still-weak Weaving abilities to their full extent, picking at the Threads that composed his enemy until he finally plucked the right now and...
He sat up, completely drenched in sweat, his Lich's robes unaffected by the liquid glistening on his skin. He picked up a trembling hand, gazing at it as it shook violently. It took only three jerks for him to realize that the burn scars, the ones that had covered his skin as a grim reminder of the charm infesting his body, were completely gone; his face felt clean, and he had no doubt that the rest of his body was cleansed as well. However, the important point was that he was finally free of that damned restraint, the bond with Unknown which he so abhorred... 'Oh really?'
What the hell? Those were his own thoughts.. or were they?
It was while gazing at his own hands that he forgot about Unknown and remembered what he had done, who he had become. The memory of that young Hufflepuff girl came back to him, the cold ease with which he killed her, the grim satisfaction that his charmed body felt when it did the deed. The numerous other young students he had killed, simply because they were in his way... the two boys, almost his own age, whom he had slaughtered in his hunt for a new wand. My wand... He looked to the side, his eyes falling on a thin stick on his bedside table. A thin, fifteen-inch-long yew branch.. his wand. He reached a shaking hand for it, feeling the cool, polished wood in his sweaty palm. However, it felt different; it felt powerful almost, as if unknown energy hummed within it. Damn it, he thought, his aching mind wandering back to the numerous lessons he had had back when he was Syrus's apprentice. Of the training duels, he remembered a few when the extraordinary magic of Syrus overwhelmed him, effectively silencing his own ability to use magic. He was silenced; until he could figure out what to do, Muryllis could no longer tap into the magical energy of the world.
"I need to get out of here," he muttered, gripping his useless wand in one hand and using the other to support his feeble attempt at standing; he was still very light-headed, having not eaten a full meal for weeks. "Nurse," he began to call, but reconsidered - he was a traitor in the school, and there was no doubt that he would be treated as such when he was found awake; without the ability to use magic, he was a cripple, and so he'd have to think of something. But what?
Scorp!us stepped onto the arena, and the rest of the events remained shrouded, covered by the misty haze created by Unknown. 'Let him pass', he whispered through the deadly charm that filled the Redeemer's body. 'I need him here'. Then pure blackness; a light tug at his mind was all he could remember, and he was out. Out like a light... 'Let him pass... '
Then moments later... or hours... or years... or moments? He sat bolt upright in a soft, white bed that he would later recognize as that of the school's hospital wing, a bed he was no stranger to. Pushing aside the frantic memories of duels he had been in before, a single thought pounded at his mind - the thought of Unknown. What the hell is going on? A scream escaped his lips, but it was a silent one; he had no memory of sound, none except for his heartbeat at that moment. Something was happening to Unknown.... his mind screamed in protest as something was slipped into it with the painful ease of a knife piercing the flesh... 'Let him pass...' Then the darkness came back, welcomed by his aching mind...
~
Life came back to him in slow, seamless stages... first the steady heartbeat (his? someone else's?), then an odd, unfamiliar scent in his nostrils (death? blood? flowers?) Then came the light. It was refreshing, a welcome relief from the throbbing pain that had consumed his cranium. The cause for the pain was soon found... subconsciously, Muryllis had resumed his mental assault of that dreaded charm, and the death of Unknown (not yet known even to the Redeemer) had made it easier. Soon enough, that assault proved successful; weeks later, though he had no idea so much time had passed since the beginning of his coma, he could feel his mental attack puncture the magical charm. In essence, he was finally using his still-weak Weaving abilities to their full extent, picking at the Threads that composed his enemy until he finally plucked the right now and...
He sat up, completely drenched in sweat, his Lich's robes unaffected by the liquid glistening on his skin. He picked up a trembling hand, gazing at it as it shook violently. It took only three jerks for him to realize that the burn scars, the ones that had covered his skin as a grim reminder of the charm infesting his body, were completely gone; his face felt clean, and he had no doubt that the rest of his body was cleansed as well. However, the important point was that he was finally free of that damned restraint, the bond with Unknown which he so abhorred... 'Oh really?'
What the hell? Those were his own thoughts.. or were they?
It was while gazing at his own hands that he forgot about Unknown and remembered what he had done, who he had become. The memory of that young Hufflepuff girl came back to him, the cold ease with which he killed her, the grim satisfaction that his charmed body felt when it did the deed. The numerous other young students he had killed, simply because they were in his way... the two boys, almost his own age, whom he had slaughtered in his hunt for a new wand. My wand... He looked to the side, his eyes falling on a thin stick on his bedside table. A thin, fifteen-inch-long yew branch.. his wand. He reached a shaking hand for it, feeling the cool, polished wood in his sweaty palm. However, it felt different; it felt powerful almost, as if unknown energy hummed within it. Damn it, he thought, his aching mind wandering back to the numerous lessons he had had back when he was Syrus's apprentice. Of the training duels, he remembered a few when the extraordinary magic of Syrus overwhelmed him, effectively silencing his own ability to use magic. He was silenced; until he could figure out what to do, Muryllis could no longer tap into the magical energy of the world.
"I need to get out of here," he muttered, gripping his useless wand in one hand and using the other to support his feeble attempt at standing; he was still very light-headed, having not eaten a full meal for weeks. "Nurse," he began to call, but reconsidered - he was a traitor in the school, and there was no doubt that he would be treated as such when he was found awake; without the ability to use magic, he was a cripple, and so he'd have to think of something. But what?