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| - To Dalaran they went. To finish their studies was their aim, and to earn the most coveted Seal of the Kirin Tor which would forever proclaim them to be a master of the Art, both in the eyes of the city, and in the eyes of the Law. The Ascendants that remained, fearful of Kelith’s wild new moods, his violent changes in temperament, and the look of lust that had come into his eyes, did their best to avoid him. For Kelith’s part, he wished to see no one - to interact with no one. He wished only to finish the year of school before his mind rent itself completely and utterly asunder. The night of his arrival in the city, he went with all haste to his dorm room and made certain to wipe clean all traces that Lucius had ever lived there with him. His heart was sick to think of the skeletal face, the drawn and gaunt form, that he had forced Lucius to bear. His stomach churned with revulsion for his acts. Little did it matter, for in the depths of his mind THEY lauded him for it. THEY gave him many praises for his quick mind and quicker fingers. Poisons, THEY said, could serve him well. And then he lay down to sleep, fearing to close his eyes for the nightmares he knew would come. At last those heavy lids fell shut, and almost without delay he was assaulted, tormented. He dreamt of empty places, of corridors long since dead, of black hallways through which only ghosts passed - but this was merely the start of the dream. Through the forbidden corridors he ventured, lost and alone. He was led on by the sound of soft feet, just ahead, and of muffled voices - people discussing something in tones too low to understand. On and on he went through those dark halls until at last he reached a casement. It was a window that looked out into a vast sea of darkness, an expanse of nothing. Yet, as he stared, the darkness become peopled with light - with many tiny stars, fearful in their aspects, for they appeared most of all like eyes winking in the darkness. With all these eyes upon his person, he felt himself examined, judged. Then the casement was empty again. However, all was not the same. There was a breeze where that had been none before, a foul musty air was blowing through the empty frame. Borne on this breeze were whispers - whispers that held mocking, accusatory tones in their voices. "Murderer," they hissed. "Betrayer," they moaned. Kelith began to back away. He made as if to fend them off, raising his hands in front of his face. "No!" he called. "No, if I had not, he would have revealed me! He would have revealed my work! If he had not died, all would be lost!" "All is lost, Kelith," came another voice, this one concrete. He whirled to find Lucius standing in the hallway behind him. "All is lost because you could not bend your be-damned pride and admit we were wrong; that what we did was wrong. I have already paid the price for it. Who knows how long it will take you to pay yours..." Lucius intoned solemnly, as large bits of flesh began to slough off of his body. "You are a liar! I am not lost!" Kelith howled. "I am more powerful than ever before!" "At what cost, my friend? At what cost?" the quickly disintegrating figure of Lucius asked. "No matter the cost!" Kelith shrieked, and his scream was loud, and Lucius' body was weak. What little remained of the vanishing man fell to pieces, shattered upon the floor. Shuddering a shudder that reached his very bones, Kelith turned and fled the hall. Ah, but to what better place did he come? To what sunlit meadow of the mind did he flee? Only from darkness to greater darkness, from fear to greater fear. For what did he find when at last he rested his feet? A rotting crimson curtain hung before him, in a doorway. Not wishing to be visited by the specter of Lucius again, he brushed the slimy fabric aside, only to reveal a parlor of horrors. Furniture lay scattered about, broken and ruined. Mold crept across it, and Kelith slowly recognized it as his own room in Dalaran. The only difference was the that time had wasted this room to nothing, made of its beds and chairs carcasses that could not resist the flow of the endless years. And worse - there were THINGS in the room, THINGS flitting from place to place. Vaporous and ghostly they were, and in forms blasphemous to behold. They whirled and twitched and gyred endlessly, forming looping patterns about themselves and making the most horrendous noise. Amidst this clutter, amidst this madness of biology deformed, Kelith saw himself, at a desk. The desk was nearly a lump of wood by now, no place for writing. And yet, as though he did not know, he saw himself there, scribbling away by candlelight. His simulacrum self seemed unaware of the madness around him, but Kelith the dreamer saw - and he saw that the THINGS swirled around no place more than his other self - they danced in hideous unspeakable nightmare dances nowhere more than around his head. From their deformed and unholy grotesque bodies came whispers and suggestions, in a torrent. Kelith had heard those whispers before - heard them almost constantly since the Tower. He desperately fought to hold back his gorge. Ah, but then his attention shifted again, for he saw that the walls were unlike the walls of his room. They bore the mark of a deep fire that had written sigils and signs upon them, forming a great and intricate summoning circle of vast size, writ about the whole room. Then he awoke. He was covered head to foot in sweat, and yet this had been one of the least horrifying of his dreams. His body shuddered violently as waves of heat and cold passed through him. In turns his veins burned and froze. The next day, after classes, he obtained three large pieces of summoner's chalk. His hands itched to write, and write he did. He slid aside his large bookshelf and began to copy down the sigils he had seen in his dream upon the stone wall. There was nothing he could do to stop himself. It was as though he were possessed.
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