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[Isk]

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The golden hardcover book was spread open before him as Isk inked in his plan for the revival of the Regency. His competition, Nazralte, was a great man capable of the task of governing. He knew that each of them had a strong but different vision for the future but on this night the Humanis writer set down his intentions on paper. His letters danced off the page and through the margins as he scribed them. Like liquid pouring from the paper onto the table following the path of the thick Utopia smoke from the brazier beside him the letters collected in a circle and danced around the ink holder as if casting a ritual to awaken the lifeless liquid. Isk lowered his swaying head to take in the sight as words like ‘Pride’ formed and danced with ‘Virtue’ and ‘Favour’ danced with ‘Respect’. The entire room was a mixture of swirling images and shades with two blobs of color rolling around on the floor one white and one darker.

His special helm crafted by the Hand of Evil rested on the table empty of its previous mixed contents. Traces of opium, Utopia, Phantom, snake venom and wine barely coating its black insides. Each of the potent drugs consumed though Isk’s mouth using the helm as a goblet. Now in his euphoric state, with his mind expanded to the infinite he could feel the paralysis of the venom numb his muscles as his words danced with life around him. Because he could not feel his fingers, feel his own strength, he broke his pen which gushed blackness like blood over his hand and paper covering various words. He almost created a giddy sound as the spilled ink joined with the dancing words forming ‘Flavour’ out of the word ‘Favour’ then strange laughter burst from his numbed lips as he began to hear voices in his head calling him into the swirling pattern on the floor.

Lifting himself and trying to get to the voice he hit his thigh on the corner of the table and with his numb legs failing him he tripped onto the floor. Crawling over to the swirling black and white pattern he dragged ink along the floor from his hand. Letting out ecstatic sounds, his hands and body shifted among the pattern when he reached it. Sounds drilling into his head, both distant and present as his numb body danced along the rug and tiled floor in its downed position. Mouthing words that no longer made sense and seeing star bursts in his vision he contorted himself and slowly felt his consciousness drain from him.

Hours later he awoke pressed to his wife who comforted him, his body shaking its paralysis with all but his right arm revived. A face that only she has seen was now marked by stress from his personal ordeal. And with all the concern she showed for him the thought which surfaced on Isk’s mind was that his right hand was now useless...and thus he would need to rely more on words than gestures at debate this Tuesday. His right arm was paralysed.