Rise of the Dark

Void. That word used to have a meaning; it used to be something that one could look up in the thick musty books of the Great Library. At one time, its definition was a simple thing - a mere trifle. It was an item of idle knowledge in the realm of scholars. There were a great number of words in such books, and many were far more esoteric than the simple "void," therefore the definition of that word was hardly a matter of importance, let alone necessity.

Had Cothrael the occasion to hear such a statement, he might very well have disagreed. At the very least, he would have attested to the fact that whatever definition of "void" was scribed in the books of scholars, it did not even begin to approach the reality.

He drifted in a numb sea of sheer sensory deprivation. "Drifted," though - that description might not have been accurate. If there was an "up" that was in some way separate from a "down," and he was in some way floating between those two states, then he could be described as "drifting." As it was, he could not even tell if he was moving.

Cothrael cast about madly for some semblance of sight, of sound, of even pain. So desperate was he to grasp something from the life he was sure he had known, one of the basic senses that so many take for granted that he did not even think to wonder where he was or how he had gotten there. He simply wanted some sort of toehold on the reality that he should have perceived, on that which was safe, on that which was known…something, in short, that would give him the mental breathing room to gather his wits about himself and attempt to escape this place.

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Written by Michael D. Wisebaker aka Chyn/Assh