Chapter 1: Ofaris of the Circle
The light of the Sacred Flame danced in the eyes of Ofaris of the Circle and played across the stone walls of the high-ceilinged chamber in the heart of The Secret Tower. He allowed his Rune of Water to flood over the Dryad’s Ear plant spell that flickered between his fingers. The mixing of rune and spell always had a calming effect on him and he needed his composure now more than ever.
After months of searching for the Flame, the moment was finally upon him! Ofaris did not know for certain what lay on the other side, but it was whispered amongst the guilds that those who entered the Sacred Flame emerged with powers unheard of for centuries.
At the last convocation of the Circle, Archmagus Alessar in particular had been vocal in his calls for their sect to do all they could to find ways of destroying these Flames. Alessar had never been forward-thinking… always content to take the conservative course. Ofaris had tried to convince him that the Circle’s purpose should be the advancement of Wizarding kind – free from the restraints of the Council.
Isn’t that why the Circle was formed in the first place? He had argued. Brilliant minds should not be forced to stagnate waiting for a consensus amongst factions that refuse out of principle to agree with one another… The Circle sees no colours – only magical prowess! It rests on our shoulders to drive the quest for discovery.
But the Archmagus disagreed. Once more, he tried to fetter Ofaris’ ambitions. But not this time. This time, Ofaris would act as he saw fit. And after stepping into the Flame, forging his newfound powers in a crucible of arcane energy, who would dare to stand in the way of progress?
Ofaris thought back to his dream of the night before: a seat at the head of the Council, untold riches, the power to influence his peers and set a course for all Wizards into the future… Yes! I will be the author of this chapter in history – I will be remembered as the one who ushered in a new era of prosperity to this world!
The wizard smiled triumphantly. He scooped up his slime familiar Limos, took a deep breath, and stepped assuredly into the six-foot Flame.
Chapter 2: A forgotten soul enslaved
There was nothing. Then suddenly, the pain, filling every corner of his being, an inferno blazing and popping, threatening to explode. He tried to scream, but choked on the intensity of the heat. It felt as though his skin was melting, the meat scorching from his bones. Faintly, as though coming from afar, he heard Limos’ high pitched shrieks.
The Sacred Flame was the world, and the world was fire. Ofaris tried to conjure his Water Rune – anything to stave off the heat – but it evaporated in an impotent puff of steam. He reached agonisingly for the Dryad’s Ear – a frantic attempt to heal his dire wounds. The stench of his own flesh burning clouded his delirious mind. The force of the Flame burst the seams of reality and cast Ofaris into the Void.
Time lost its meaning as the searing pain faded, replaced by waves of nausea. The Realm of the Dead stretched around him, overwhelmingly vast. Ofaris’ mind reeled as a hideous hand entered his vision. He recoiled in fear, realising that the hand was his own. Looking down, the stench of rotten meat washed over him as maggots crawled from ragged gashes in his discoloured skin.
Suddenly an immense pressure crushed his chest and he was hurled backwards, flailing and gasping, and slammed into cold stone. He crumpled to the floor, his mind dulled and senses numb.
Bony fingers poked through the membrane between worlds, peeling it back to reveal The Great Lord of the Void, Wizard #4298. The Voidlord stepped into The Secret Tower and the membrane sealed itself behind him with a slurping sound.
A scorch-shadow stained the floor of the chamber, the only remnant of the Sacred Flame’s magical energy that had transmuted the wizard’s bodily form. Voidoth looked impassively down at the erstwhile wizard who lay snivelling on the stone floor, his familiar’s ashen ghost quaking at his side.
Ofaris tried to speak, but no words came, only the guttural mutterings of the Undead. He was not yet used to the change in his vocal cords. He tried to cast the Dryad’s Ear spell – Voidoth knew this was a futile attempt to heal the transmutation – but instead of the plant spell a massive Rafflesia flower unfurled its meaty petals, emitting the stench of decay and death. A swarm of flies already buzzed around the creature’s gangrenous body; some of the insects alighted on the leathery skin of the flower of death, crawling greedily across its surface.
The Voidlord bent and offered his hand to Gangrenous Zombie Ofaris, helping him to stand, but the skin slewed off the zombie’s rotting arm and he collapsed back to the ground. Voidoth was left holding the empty sock of skin, which he flicked away from himself contemptuously. He surveyed the pathetic creature for a moment, then spoke, the metallic grating of his voice echoing around the hollow chamber.
“You hoped for power and you shall have it – but not the power you searched for. You can now penetrate the membrane between the worlds of the living and the dead. You will do my bidding, for only I can offer you respite from this new horror.”
The zombie gave a confused groan, and the Voidlord knew that the putrid creature now understood that all this time he had been but a puppet on Voidoth’s strings.
“That’s right, you fool. I sowed those seeds in your mind. You will be chained in this immortal nightmare, doomed to relive your fate anew each day – to feel your flesh devoured over and over. You will only find the illusion of respite from this torment in the dreams I offer you.”
His jaw skewed to the side, Gangrenous Zombie Ofaris moaned and nodded his head, and the Great Lord of the Void silently bathed in the acquisition of another forgotten soul.
Story Arc Index:
Prologue: Soul #7186
Part 1: Wizard #314
Part 2: Wizard #2398
Part 3: Wizard #134
Part 4: Wizard #3920
Part 5: Wizard #7935
Epilogue: Wizard #291
Entered by: 0x24D7…e52b and preserved on chain (see transaction)
