"At first, there is nothing, and I am nothing. At least that is what my senses tell me. I cannot see. I cannot feel. There is nothing to touch, taste, or smell. Around me is a great void of emptiness that is soul-crushing in its vast lack of any reference point.
I exist in this state for a length of time that cannot be measured, as time has no meaning here. Was it days? Years? Centuries? Or perhaps only five minutes? There is no way for me to tell, and it is maddening to be suddenly torn from ones entire frame of reference.
After the sudden shock of arriving here and the unknown time spent contemplating where here is, things begin to come back to me. I exist. That much is at first plainly clear. I am thinking after all, am I not? These thoughts echo out into the nothingness that surrounds me, and I realize that I am generating newness in emptiness merely with my existence.
With the awareness that I still exist comes a flood of thoughts, some of them memories and some of them simply echoes of sensory input that I no longer feel. I was not always like this, and not always in this place. I know that much. I was once...alive? Yes, I was alive, although the definition of living may vary from one person to another. That is another thought in itself; there were others and I was once in a place where other conscious beings walked.
How did I come to be here? The answer comes to me out of nothing, but I know it is truth when it forms. I died. No, I was slain. My form's existence came to an end, and I should have passed into the great darkness that takes us all at the end of our days. And yet I did not, for this is not that darkness. How do I know this? Because I do not suffer here, and I know that for my deeds in life I deserved to suffer.
Details of who and what I was slowly return to me. I was once a young noble who toyed with unspeakable darkness like it was my plaything. Others who walked this path with me paid the price long ago, and I watched as they fell one by one. In some cases I aided in their demise, using my intimate knowledge of these dark powers to hunt others who would harm the world in which I once moved.
I remember...preparing myself for this eventuality. More than once in life I was brought to the brink of death. I hunted evils after all and used great evil to do so. With each near-brush with the hereafter I came to know that punishment awaited me for the things I'd dabbled in, and so I delved further into the powers I had.
There are ways to cheat death; any necromancer can tell you this. Some steal the life from others, extending their own lives indefinitely. Others are so powerful in their magic that they create an arcane device known as a phylactery, which their soul will return to in death. This type of artifact would allow one to become an undead creature known as a lich.
And yet, each of these methods have drawbacks. A living person sustained by the lifeforce of others can be slain. A lich can be destroyed, a phylactery splintered apart. Seeing these weaknesses, I took steps to circumvent them. I created a void, a space in which my spirit could seek refuge in the most desperate hour when my form had finally come to an end. Connected only on the fringe of those realms in which spirits roam, I will linger in this sanctuary forever.
And yet...my spirit burns now. Burns with the need to press onward. Ever in life, and even in the half-life I lived at the end of my days, I was propelled to excel. I was raised this way, raised to be perfect in everything to which I applied my skills. My parents would accept nothing else after all, and even now, when the concerns of mortals are beyond me, this is ingrained in who I was and who my spirit is.
As the thoughts swirl through my mind and I slowly come to understand who and what I was, time passes. Living people are born, age and die. Worlds turn and stars glitter brightly, all of it unknown to me. Severed from everything, I finally reach out beyond this void to seek something, anything to anchor myself.
I hear a voice chanting. I do not know the language that is spoken, but it is not necessary. I can hear the inflection of words and the steady rhythm with which they are spoken and I know instinctively that someone, somewhere is casting a spell that they should not be casting. A spell designed to reach out into the darkness, seeking power. It is like a lifeline, like a glowing tendril in the vast nothingness in which I float. Reaching out to it is as simple as picking up a string from the floor.
And then I am tumbling, tumbling down the length of the thread, all of the power, the knowledge that I had stored within me flaring to life as I hurtle towards the voice that foolishly continues to chant the evil spell that she thinks will bring her power but will instead bring her doom.
My collision with her form, her magic is like running into a concrete wall. She struggles against me, but her studies, her craft is inferior to my own. I have spent years honing my skills, perfecting my art, and a novice such as she cannot resist my power for long. Her very soul shudders as it comes into contact with mine, as it wars with mine.
And then it is over, and she has passed from the world, another victim of dark magics that she should have known not to play with. Her passing means little to me, for she deserved it in the end. I experience her existence briefly as her spirit flees its shell, know that she was a cultist seeking to do unspeakable things. Her death is a blessing to whatever world she walked upon.
And then I feel pain. Unendurable, everlasting pain. It is like a bittersweet cup to sip from and I gulp it down, the pain the first thing I've experienced in who knows how long. I feel for the first time, I feel a body shuddering, my body shuddering. I feel the shell that I have claimed, I feel my magic locking my spirit in place within it, anchoring me. I feel eyelids flutter open, and the glow of my magic fading as eyes focus on the evil arcane symbols scrawled on the floor around where I sit.
I lean forward for a moment, simply enjoying the soul-wrenching agony and the feeling of breath panting from between my lips...or rather, HER lips. The form I have stolen. I shake my head, dismissing the thought, knowing that I must get my bearings and continue my work. Evil to fight evil, magic to slay those who would destroy worlds.
I regain my composure and sit back on my haunches, taking in the moldy, dark cave in which I find myself. I smile, knowing that my banishment is complete. Knowing that those who had slain me hadn't the slightest idea what they were doing, or how to actually destroy me in my former life. Connected to my sanctuary, I can still feel that place, and mark it later as a journey I must take in order to seek vengeance. But that can wait for now, as there is work to be done here as well judging by the fact that cultists were able to call far enough to draw my attention.
As I rise, my smile widens, the last of my knowledge coming to me. As I walk from the opening of the cave, one last thought lingers in my subconscious, finally revealed to me.
I am Kerryann Westdale, and those who wish to dabble in dark powers should be wary, for there are some who are so much better at it."
~Kerryann's first spiritual transcendence.
