It was strange. The little tingle in the fingertips of one hand barely caught your attention as you left the ruins of the Fallen City behind. But the crushing physical and emotional weight of the final events at the Mythallar left you broken and bruised in so many places that you ignored it. As your body and mind began to heal, you finally noticed the odd feeling in your fingers. And, unlike the rest of you, it wasn't getting better. No no, it was getting worse and it spread to the entire hand.
Two days later it turned from a tingle to an ache, and then, from an ache to a throb. A powerful, thick pulse. A throbbing that kept you from sleeping most nights leaving you hollow. And that’s when the first nightmare came. It was Veneranda. Only this Veneranda wasn't the horror from the spire of Ythryn. She wasn’t clad in armor or topped with a sickening brain in a vat of gloopy liquid. This Veneranda was different. Young and beautiful. But somehow, you knew this was her. Veneranda the powerful Arcanist. Veneranda, cruel and all-powerful from her days of glory before the fall of the mighty Netherese. Before the doom of Ythryn. Before wasting away. Before clawing back and forging a body out of nightmares and transferring her soul and mind into the brain of a slave.
But here she was. Veneranda the all powerful, seated at the end of your bed. Veneranda, your master, wearing a heavy green, fur lined, velvet dress. A mantle embroidered in gold symbols from a long dead language draped over her shoulders. She’s looking off in the distance but all you know is fear and you begin to panic.
“Why is the master here?”
You will yourself to be still, to be invisible, but it doesn't work. She notices you. Her head starts to turn toward you. Slowly.
“No!”, your mind reels! You mustn't be seen! Being seen always means pain. You try to run before she sees you, but you are frozen. Finally, Veneranda’s head completes its turn and you whimper, “Oh, please please, no!”
Her eyes, finally on you, erupt into flames!
The flames leap from her eyes - hungry and uncaring. They cover the top of her head and tumble onto the bed. The blankets are burning now and she lifts her hand. Reaching out. Reaching toward you. Her mouth opens, “Serve me!”, she howls.
The flesh on her head is burning, the hair turned to ash. Sparks dancing up toward the ceiling. Her cheeks, her chin and lips, engulfed. But still, “Find me!”, she belches. Fire and smoke puffing in and out of her mouth with every breath, every syllable.
The walls and furniture ignite from the heat, filling your room with black, acrid smoke. You can’t breathe and gasp for air! Veneranda’s awful hand reaching closer. Flame now moving down the sleeve of her dress and alight on the back of her hand. “No! Please!”, you beg. The fire is everywhere now. The heat, almost unbearable until finally, her hand engulfed in flame, reaches you and grabs your wrist! A searing pain tears at your skin. The smell of your own burning skin and meat mingling now with the smoking wreck of your room. Her grip tightens and pulls your cooked flesh up and away from the two bones of your forearm. The clean white of the bones painted red and orange by the firelight flashing all around you. Veneranda screams, “Come to me!” and everything is burning. You let out a final agonizing scream and wake up in a cold sweat. Panting. Shaking. The room is back to normal. The familiar indigo palette of your room at night anchors you to the waking world, cleansing you of the violence and heat of the dream.
You sit up and put your feet on the floor. Exhausted, you stand and walk to the basin and splash water on your face. You remind yourself that it was only a dream. As your heart slows back to normal, your wrist pulses. The throbbing again reminds you of Veneranda’s grip. You look down and wrapped around your wrist, is a strange, still smoking string of glowing symbols.
Veneranda visits every night now and every night you burn. You haven’t slept in a week. Oblivious to the world around you. Tortured and obsessed by the dreams and wishing it would stop. Finally after nine nights of fire, the dream changes. Instead of feeling panic and fear when you see her, you feel peaceful. The air in the room is sweet and cheerful and when Veneranda turns to you, you rise out of bed and move to kneel in front of her. Head bowed. And finally, when she reaches out to you she places her hand gently under your chin. You look up and meet her eyes. Human eyes: blue-gray and sparkling. Beautiful. And she says, “The staff. You must bring it to me” and chin raised, eyes lowered, you say “I will, Master. Of course I will”. “Of course you will. And what will happen to my good servant if you do not?”
“I will burn forever, my lady?”
“That’s right my sweet. You will burn forever” and fall back to sleep. The best sleep you’ve had in weeks. And when you wake you are refreshed and can only think about one thing: Vellynne Harpell.
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