Blinded Was He Who Saw

[Buhru 129]

Spoiler

 

~Deep beneath the tundra claimed cliffs of the north, past crumbling idols and false walls, Réma Salazar descended alone, awash with a desire to attain but a glimpse of truths clandestine~

It could have once been said that the scholar's drive, and all that he attained in its name had been clothed in the fine silk of noble intent; But in the end, only pride remained. He was now but a man freshly deprived of both sight and the potential he once boasted without yield. In vain, he stayed that path of lack and longing- since set along the trek to insanity by the meddlings of extraplanar beings, now far too privy to that which lurks beyond the veil to turn a blind eye. If he could but stare into the keyhole once more, he could at least feel that which he could not perceive from sundered eyes.

 

"If only for but a moment, I must see the truth. It is why I've journeyed so far."

 

It was thence, in the midst of that night that the mad ritualist bolstered by his snortings of crisquart dust thence endeavored that rite, remembered still by his very fibers, though, surely he must have known that above all else, he could not breach the veil between worlds alone even as he might so claim, yet, the thirst for such a sight, despite what he lacked would not allow him respite. The pull of an aurum dagger across an open palm came subsequent, oscillating the ichor in the center of a cupped palm as it seeped. Tirelessly had he shaped that intricate lattice of runes along the altar's surface, each of them jotted equally irrelevant and disordered as he brought the ritual to near completion.

In cadence with a loosing of a hand, the dagger clattered to the flooring as he dropped to a knee, claimed by his pursuit of vainglory. There came but a subsequent pressing of the wound to the stone, and the ritual ignited - first in searing crimson, then in a darkness far deeper than the night around him.

 

lured to the the hollow sanctum of his mind’s eye, Réma too now saw.

 

 

 

 

What met him there, he could never name- nor had his mouth dared to shape the words necessary in his recalling of the memory and it was likely he never would. Awoken from a vision that lasted something akin to an eternity within, he was awash with a nagging determination to claw beneath his lids. Thence, with but a final tug, he pulled from within his skull a pair of bloodshot oculi, lathered now in a scarlet red, having merely dared to match the stare of that being from but a now fragmented memory.

 

“Many are the truth's unsacred i've dared to uncover in this lifetime, and first among them to be burned into mind since laying feet upon this wretched land, is he who glimpses the clandestine is, risks never again being without that sight.”