Pride, I think, is a sin unique to the young, or at least the young at
heart. By pride I do not mean simple conceit – arrogance is a talent possessed
by fools of all ages. No, the pride of youth is the comfortable certainty that
those younger than you have learned nothing, and those older than you have
forgotten everything. It is the absolute conviction that despite decades of
learning that still lie ahead of you, you know everything there is to know.
At twenty years of age, I was as guilty of this sin of pride as every
other lad of twenty who has ever walked the earth, though I masked it better
than most. In my demeanor I was among the humblest of the Fated, novices of
the Nihilists, but in truth the two years of hard study it took me to graduate
grated on me immensely. I wished to know everything and learn nothing, and
none of my tutors could teach me quickly enough.
So when my training was at last complete, I was elated. The skills I
possessed now, I thought, were the beginning of great power, a foundation upon
which my legend could be built. Soon my enemies would cower before me, and my
allies would heap praises upon me. Perhaps, I thought, I might even become
Champion.
So my steps were quick and my heart was light as I prepared to meet with
Mystagogue Bricriu, Administrator of the Nihilists. She was conferring with one
of the Seditionists when I approached and bowed low before her. Unfazed by my
interruption, she glanced up from the scroll she'd been perusing and regarded
me with mild curiosity. "Yes, Fated Ashar?"
"I beg your pardon, Mystagogue, but I have completed my studies," I
said, struggling to keep the pride from my voice.
She smiled warmly. "Ah, yes. Congratulations." Without pause or
explanation, she reached out one hand and gently traced a pattern on my cheek.
Chanting to herself, she cupped my face for a moment, then light flashed briefly
from her palm and she removed her hand. I reached up tentatively to touch my
face with one hand, and felt nothing, but I knew that a rune now glimmered on
my cool skin. "There," said the Mystagogue, stepping back and nodding in
satisfaction. "You will now be allowed entry into our guild hall. You know
where that is, I trust?" I did not, but nodded emphatically nonetheless.
"Excellent. Congratulations, Acolyte Ashar," she concluded, and I beamed with
pride. Thanking her profusely, I bowed once more and strode off to locate the
Tower of the Dark Fates.
It took me some time to locate the tower, near the Megalith of Doom. As
a novice, I had always been puzzled by the ease with which guild members entered
the tower, for it had no entrance that I could see. Where a door should have
been there was instead a dark statue of a cloaked figure, its face concealed by
a long hood. This time, however, the statue stirred subtly as I approached,
vibrating with an almost expectant hum. As I drew closer, I discerned from
within the depths of the hood a pair of blood-red eyes, regarding me serenely.
I was shocked by this strange aberration, and was on the verge of attempting to
engage it in combat when I was blinded by a bright flash. When my vision
cleared, I stood in the foyer of the Tower of the Dark Fates.
It was a disquieting chamber, to be sure; eerily silent and dimly lit,
without another inhabitant in sight. The long hallway ahead of me lead up to a
long flight of stairs; stairs which led, I know, to the ritual chambers and
solitary cells of the highest-ranking Nihilists. I longed to explore there,
but knew it would be unwise to do so without permission; so reluctantly, I
turned left and trudged down the other hallway, towards the Library.
The second hallway was even gloomier than the first, lined with
paintings of fearful creatures and imposing figures from the guild's history.
The lighting was almost nonexistent, save for a few small candles, making it
all but impossible to see more than a few feet in front of my face. I walked
very slowly, wishing to remain quiet, and breathed a small sigh of relief when
a staircase came into view, winding down into the darkness below.
I reached the bottom of the stairs quickly, and was astonished by what I
saw. Shelf upon shelf lined the shadowed walls of the library, filled with more
books than I could hope to read in a lifetime. All were decades old, many with
titles in some forgotten tongue I was unable to decipher. Some particularly
large and ancient-looking tomes lay on pedestals or encased in glass, locked
shut to prevent their perusal by casual eyes. The entire room smelled of moldy
parchment, and of aging leather and cloth; it gave the library a sepulchral
atmosphere, as though I stood inside some vast mausoleum or crypt.
Suddenly a voice came from the back of the room, cracked and dry like
the books themselves. "Come closher," it said. "Come where you can shee me."
Puzzled by this odd turn of phrase, I walked forward cautiously, and my eyes
fell upon the oldest living creature I had ever seen.
He was a viscanti, that much was plain; his features were roughly human,
but his skin was a light red that clearly indicated the Taint. It was wrinkled
and leathery, and his veins showed blue beneath it, winding through his exposed
face and neck. His lips were thin and pale, and never smiled, not even when he
laughed. His eyes, however, were his most captivating feature. They were
blood red, and regarded me unblinkingly from beneath his long hood. They
twinkled constantly with dark amusement, as though he were enjoying some
private joke at my expense. He reminded me uncannily of the cloaked statue at
the door, though I could not say why.
"You must be Master Veritus," I said, finding my voice at last.
"And you must be Ashar," he replied. I had no idea how he knew my name;
I still do not, though I have my theories.
Remembering my purpose suddenly, I walked forward and prostrated myself
before him. "I have come to learn, Master Veritus," I said. "Teach me, I beg
of you."
He chuckled slightly, closer to a rasping cough than actual laughter.
"So," he pronounced. "You wish to know what it meansh to be a Nihilisht."
I felt a momentary flash of anger. What had he mistaken me for, a
novice? "I know what it means to be a Nihilist, Master," I explained
patiently. "That is not what I" – I screamed in pain as I felt white-hot
knives pierce every inch of my body. Unable to think, I beat wildly at my
afflicted form until the pain subsided, as quickly as it had begun. I looked
down at myself and saw no trace of any knives, nor of any wound at all; then I
heard Master Veritus' throaty chuckle and gazed up at him in astonishment. He
had not moved.
"If you know what it meansh," he asked, "why do you schream?" His lisp
was pronounced, and he made no effort to conceal it.
"Because it hurts," I gasped, taking a step back from him.
"To be a Nihilisht," he began in a lecturing tone. "Is to ignore pain –
or better yet, to use it, for your opponents will not. It is to wield pain,
when othersh fear it; to wield fear, where othersh die from it; to wield death,
when othersh see it ash the end of all thingsh." He paused to meet my eyes.
"Death," he intoned. "Is jusht a beginning." I held his gaze for a moment,
then looked away and nodded. "I can teach you to caushe the greatesht of
tormentsh, terrify the shtrongesht of warriorsh and even raishe the dead." His
eyes went hard for a moment. "But not unlesh you are willing to lishten."
I felt more small and foolish than I ever had in my life. I had come
into his presence convinced that I knew everything, that all he had left to
teach me were a few last secrets before I would be ready. He had shown me the
truth; I knew nothing. "I am sorry, Master," I mumbled. "I will listen."
He met my eyes, saw the new humility there, and nodded once in
acknowledgement. "Now," he said. "Let ush begin."
Fool though I was, I learned quickly, and there were no more cries of
pain from the Library that night.
In the years since, one might think that I had learned enough to count
Veritus among my peers, or even a respected subordinate, but that is far from
the reality. Within that wizened frame there are secrets that I can never hope
to learn, secrets amassed over a lifetime of hard study and harder experience.
Once, I thought that the road to these secrets could be quick, and easy, and
that some were merely slow to learn. To teach me differently took the
intervention of one who represented all that I derided, and now revere: Master
Veritus ni'Rotri.