Lorek paced the halls of the Institue, glancing out the window at the shimmering barrier that marked the edge of his demiplane.
He had compiled all of his notes, his research was complete. He was ready, in his mind at least, to conquer death.
A sane man would have misgivings. He would consider what his family and friends would think. The opinions of his colleagues.
The loss of his humanity. The morality of cheating death. The power of the magic involved. Some minds may even consider the ritual depraved.
Lorek had misgivings, although these were not among them. Instead he considered how to conceal his change from the public at large. Pondered as to how he would remove the new enemies he would make. Ensured that his incantations were correct. Balanced the security of his soul over the measure of influence Nerull would have on his form.
A price, but an acceptable one. He did, very briefly, consider public opinion, but ultimately discarded it as already tarnished, thanks to Naya, Ganderlay, and the good Commander.
He descended the staircase towards the ritual chamber. Not being able to teleport easily was a consequence of the wards he had erected to ensure security.
Another price, but an acceptable one. The chamber within was sparse. Lorek had found the ritual to be remarkably simple. A few scrollls to infused negative energy into the area, the book he first learned magic from, originally his fathers. A blood sacrifice. His head turned to face his animated bodyguard. A new body, but similar armor. He had not designated this one, yet. He found the practice odd. After all, the creature was simply an extension of his own power. It was not a person, simply a spell given a physical form. A manner of efficiency in a name, he considered. He looked towards the creatures arm, where it cradled an unmoving form. Lorek never had any particular love for his sister, but whatever passed for his conscience stirred slightly at the thought of bleeding her for this. The priest he had dominated had instructions to tend to her, but there was still the chance she would die.
Another price, he considered.
But she was trouble since she was born. It is no loss.He supressed the stirring, although he did not remove the priest, a small measure of uncharacteristic mercy he was barely aware of. Somewhere he knew that simply letting her die would be more efficient.
The ritual took hours, slowly anointing the book with the blood of his kin, as he performed the magics necessary to bind his soul to it.
At some point, he lost track of time, and collapsed.
Lorek awoke in a familiar bed, sitting up abruptly, taking stock of the situation. He looked out the window, noticing a fading golden spark, as though the sun was setting.
Looking back to the room which he now recognized as his own chambers in the Institute, his eyes strained. At corners and junctions of the geometry, of his bed, his desk, and his chair, even corners of the room, everything felt slightly off. Almost as if it wasn't obeying typical geometries. The effect and the light distracted him momentarily from the lack of heat. He shivered slightly, reaching into his mind for a familiar incantation. He pronounced the words, yet nothing happened.
An illusion of some sort? A vision?
The golden glow entirely disappeared, and a slight red tint creept into the horizon.
Close, Lorek heard from behind him.
Lorek turned to face the voice, being confronted with a figure that was dressed much like himself. Yet somehow his clothing seemed more regal, more ornate. A vertical red eye was emblazoned on the figures gloves, and on his robe where his vest would be. Only last did he notice that the creature had no skin or muscle, as its long white hair framed a skeletal face.
A dream would be closer, came to Lorek from the figure.
Lorek chuckled. "A dream? How useless."
A rare opportunity. Most people dream as they die, but few remember anything, even if they are restored to life. I doubt even you will recall much, but perhaps you can bring back the wisdom I share.
"Dead?" Lorek tried to recall recent happenings. He remembered coming back to the demiplane, walking through the institute and... "The ritual failed?", he blurted out.
Dying is a phase one most pass through to achieve undeath. You did remarkably well. But now you must consider the future. For so long this has been the goal, we have barely considered what to do afterwards. The red tint in the air grew slightly brighter.
"Continue to research magic, of course."
So your power can continue to grow? And then what?
"Irrelevant. With enough power, anything can be accomplished."
I see. Tell me, is there anything about the world that you would change?"It is not an ideal place. Between cultists, drow, and even basic ignorance, much could be improved."
The red glow grew brighter, a glare at the edge of Lorek's vision now.
So you seek to use magic, to use power, to change the world?
"If it can be done, I suppose."
Then do not consider power a means. It can be used as one, but do not consider it as such. Anyone who considers power a means is doomed to fail.
"If power is the end, how is anything else accomplished?"
The red glow grew to nearly a sun on its own, causing Lorek to squint.
It is about priorities. If your goal is to change the world, and power is your means, then you would give up power to change the world, yes? It is not a sustainable model. View power as the end, the only end, to be maintained at all cost. When power is maintained as the end, other desires can be indulged without damaging the base from which you launch them.
"I...see. It is logical that if one were to give up the ability to pursue their goals to achieve them, that the result would not endure."
The red in the air flared into intensity, nearly blinding him.
Precisely. Sustainability. And one last thing. Whatever measure of compassion you have left, you should kill. As you are now, it will do you no favors.
And then all was red.
---------------------------
Strings of arcane power wrapped around Lorek's dead body, causing it to approximate the action of standing up. The corpses head turned from side to side, scanning the room.
Its gaze settled on a man in white and black robes, tending to the wounds of a middle-aged woman. A single finger extended from the corpse, and a green ray shot forth from its finger, right into the chest of the woman. Slowly the woman's flesh begin to peel off, as it crumbled to dust, followed swiftly by the muscles, then the bones, until all that was left was a pill of ash.
The man in the robes blinked twice.
The corpse straightened its clothing out, as the book in the room thought to itself,
No more distractions. It is time to end this petty god.
