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[Alarin]

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Rufus Oryan was a busy man, but he always made time for what he had to do. He always bore honor and responsibility, for it was his shield. Today he felt he had a duty of some sort, following upon a whim, he placed his hand on an archaic rune which glowed lightly for a moment, before his body faded out of existance and burst back into being in a snowing desolate land.

A tall dark gray spire rose up out of the desolate ground, he had come to the Dark Fortress once known as Aggoroth for a reason. He had been gifted with a art only the former Dark Sorceror Alarin himself knew how to teach him, and he intended to put the gift - no matter how strange and unnatural it had always seemed to him to good use. The people of Sosaria needed a strong leader, he knew, and this trial would surely bring him clarity of mind.

The steps were in ill repair, and rubble and cobwebs seemed to have dominion over all things in the keep now. The great fortress was nothing more than a playground for the most base of life now, which almost instilled a melancholy in him before he remembered the great evils which had been done unto him and others in the hated keep. He heaved a great sigh as he pondered his feelings about it. Alarin had always seemed to try to make him feel special, yet there was always the underlying malice. Something terrible he knew, but he came back, he could not help his curiosity. His own torture was inflicted here with barbed whips and strange potions of all sorts, all the while the gleaming onyx eyes watched with barely repressed delight in his groans of anguish. Not once did he scream, but the groans he allowed slip scarred his pride as much as the barbed whips scarred his now-healed back.

Rufus stared at his hands and spoke suddenly, almost as if he were meant to speak. "I wish... I wish I knew how to use this forsaken power for the good of my people, so that I may teach them that there is good in this world, aye this I would wish." and as he spoke his hands began glowing a barely noticable yellow, like the sands of the Island he loved so dearly. He had barely finished uttering his supposedly unheard plea before a tormented wretched shriek emitted directly behind him. He jumped, his heart raced and his eyes bulged. He quickly turned around and unsheathed his sword in the same motion, breathing heavily as he ascertained the threat.

"Who would... who would have the gall to summon me, in my own keep, with my own power, in my own land! Who would dare? I am not some servile spirit of little magnitude, speak your name, speak it lest I strike you down, for while I may not have my power, in my own home I am master, and I will strike you down! Speak your name quickly, wretch!" "I am Rufus Oryan, Reagent of Britannia, Sultan of Nuj'elm and Prophet of Balance, speak your name spirit so that I may know you." Rufus spoke cautiously, though he had a strong suspicion about a spirit who would claim the dark keep as their home. "My dear Oryan, how pleasent indeed to hear from you, my eyes no longer see. How very pleased to see you I am indeed. You will know, your old friend, Alarin." The voice came out as no more than a whisper now, like crinkled paper on a dry gust of wind, but it sounded quite pleased - and suprised. It sounded something else that Rufus had never heard in Alarin before. Desperate.

"My dear Oryan, so pleased indeed. What would bring you to this hovel that now rots?" The spirits voice sounded almost hopeful. "Ah... Mi'lord... I have come seeking knowledge. Knowledge about yo... no, our art. Spiritmancy." Rufus spoke respectfully, not certain of the current incarnation of his once aquaintance, sometimes enemy. "You do? Truely you do? Oh, then impart knowledge upon you I will... for a price, of course. Nothing you cannot pay. In fact, one might say it is a excercise in Spiritmancy indeed. Will you agree? I will explain it to you after we finish the ritual. It will teach you to channel your power." Alarin spoke hastily, as if he was hurried. "I will consider it... but how am I to trust you, when I do not know what you have been doing, or your intent?" Rufus spoke carefully, he did not want to hear the horrible voice from before, laced with Malice.

The spirit did not seem amused. "Now, my dear Oryan, my dear child... trust me : trust me as a son would trust his father, for if not a child of my flesh you are a child of my heart, and I would be glad for you as my son. You are strong, unlike the creature of my flesh which has been culled by that harlot vampiress, that Azin Rosewind, once she broke free of my control she rose my child in unimaginable ways... so much talent wrought into the shell and it is for naught with her inexpert tutelage. Nay, you are a son to me, Rufus Oryan, now trust your father." Rufus nodded uncertainly, but seemed convinced. He had entered a pact.

"Take the bowl, take the bowl and annoint your hands in the silverfel mercury which has been taken from the shrine of Hythloth. Annoint them quickly!" Alarin rasped eagerly. "Aye..." Rufus slowly dipped in his hands into the liquid and gasped, it felt as if he had a second skin on his hands and he looked at Alarin for approval. "Aye, go on. pull them from the bowl." Alarin spoke again, seeming too eager but Rufus dismissed it. The spirit was obviously weak and did not have time, he would not waste it. "Place your hands on my chest, place them quickly." Alarin's ethereal wispy form almost seemed to smirk cruelly for a moment as Rufus' hands touched the vaguely torso-like shape. The instant he touched his hands to the spirit, he felt pain. Unimaginable and rending his mind felt mixed and shaken, battered and beaten instantly - all in the same instance and all at once. It lasted for exactly a second and he fell to the ground on his knees gasping and blinking tears out of his eyes as he vomitted twice, then continued dry-vomitting. "What... what was that?" Rufus gasped, blinking rapidly still. "The ouroboros. A recycling, if you will. It is a rather ingenius ritual, then again, I did create it. Alarin spoke with perfect clarity from directly above Rufus.

Rufus slowly turned his head upwards, dreading what he would see. He was not mistaken. Alarin was corpreal in form, and very naked in front of him, but he did not seem concerned with his lack of clothing, he simply sat down in a nearby throne and peered at Rufus with dark onyx eyes. "My followers have scattered, my magicks fled, the scarce energies I could collect from posessing animals was naught. I will pass on my knowledge to you, now, Rufus Oryan. It is your right, afterall. You have restored my energies. I am even able to take solid form, such a strong spirit indeed." Alarin spoke haugtily, as if he had just comitted his lifes achievement, and it quite possibly was, for where Rufus was unmarked before, a strange tatoo was slowly unfurling across his bicep. 2 silver rings contrasted sharply with his dark desert-kissed skin, and in between them lay a serpent devouring its own tail. The ouroboros mark shined half black, half white. Rufus learned magics he would have never known, long through the night, before Alarin told him Rufus that he must rest. Rufus left Aggoroth confused, ill and less at peace with himself than he was ever before. And with a gift.

The ouroboros' tail slowly became darker as the strange energies began engulfing the white top. Rufus Oryan slept on, blissfully unaware.