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Dartel sat alone in his small cottage, staring blankly at the various tomes and notes he had compiled before going through with the ceremony. The dark words of Death echoed in his head, “you flesh, your blood, will be my playthings.†Dartel shuddered to his core as he thought of the many wicked things Death implied with that remark. He knew now that his soul was marked, and upon his demise, the pasty white boned hand of Death would drag him into the Abyss for eternal torment. He felt the mark on his soul acutely as he searched within himself.
Dartel’s eyes drifted over to the bed where Predian once lie, Thrennoadae diligently keeping watch over him for most the time. His thoughts drifted off and sleep took him as his face slowly drifted down to rest upon an open tome. Dartel’s dreams were many and varied, he dreamt of Death stalking him throughout all time, could feel Death’s bony fingers ripping into his flesh, clawing him as rivulets of blood formed in the wake of those tearing claws. He dreamt of the ceremony and relived every fearful moment until the point he screamed out in defiance to Death and transferred his life force into the ceremony and the two brothers in hopes of blocking Death out. He felt a strange calling to learn more of that spirit realm now, perhaps only through further study could he find ways to shield himself upon death from the inevitable.
It was the last dream that had Dartel find himself sitting upright quickly, his breathing quickened and a stunned look upon his face. He recalled Thrennoadae in her wedding gown, however he was starting at her as though he were next to her at the alter. He recalled each beautiful moment of the ceremony and of her, the way her hair was done up with flowers from the frontiers, the way her breasts heaved over the gentle V of her dress, the gleam in her eyes as she looked upon…him? Even in his dream Dartel was confused. He kept reminding himself of the hatred he had for her, this heathen Cleric/Druid that didn’t belong anywhere, but could not push away the feelings of…love?…despite his intense disliking of her. He had once wanted to bed her, but only to prove to her that it was her nature to be evil, to be beneath him…of late he wanted nothing to do with her, but this dream, this memory…confused him. The dream continued well into the night, past the small reception with their friends until they stole themselves away into their bedroom. Dartel recalled with extreme clarity the events of their wedding night, the flowery smell of her skin, the smoothness of her skin, the taste of her kiss and her screams of pleasure. It was those screams that awoke Dartel, his eyes wide and searching, but nothing outwardly. “What in the hell happened to me?†Dartel questioned the darkness.
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