|Rise of the Dark, Part II
Memories assailed him - memories, awash in pallid red, of a childhood long forgotten, a childhood so distant and indistinct it may well have happened to another person. Indeed, the person who had at one time lived those memories could very well be thought of as another person. After all, that once-child had died, had he not? This death, while untimely, was not unwelcome. Young Cothrael had welcomed such a death - death, that is, insofar as the smoky embrace of the vampire could he considered death.
Later, much later, that vampiric Cothrael (who was no longer called Cothrael but was called a different name altogether, a name that in certain tongues meant death) suffered a further removal from life as he made a grim bargain with a powerful demon - "I want power." Using the liquid red power now at his control, Cothrael made his already feared name something only spoken in hushed whispers. As the story went, to speak the name "Cothrael" aloud was to draw his attention to whatever unfortunate individual made the folly of speaking it. Such attention always brought death.
All this - stories of his distant and not-so-so distant past - all this and much more, lifetimes' worth of memories assaulted his mind. Much more is forgotten in the course of one's life than could ever be retained. Now Cothrael whose various lives and un-lives had spanned hundreds of years, was reliving each individual minutia of thousands upon thousands of days. They could not be natural functions of his memory. They were too vivid. Events that he had long since forgotten rode this tidal wave to the very fore of his mind, clearer now than when he had seen them firsthand. Something or someONE was doing this to him. Cothrael grew angry at this violation. In any other circumstance, had Cothrael means to fight back, he would not have been forced to endure this. Truly, he would have the head of whatever fool dared to toy with his mind.
Slowly, the tidal wave of memories ebbed, retreating back from the beaches of his mind. Cothrael was left even number than before. He felt exhausted, as one who had suddenly relived his life again over, but compressed into an invisible supernova of shatteringly clear images might feel.
Cothrael Radagast drifted. [ Continue ]
Written by Michael D. Wisebaker aka Chyn/Assh