Oratio ad Infernum

[HandsomeFloppa 722]

Spoiler

OOC: Do not metagame any info from this post. Nothing in this post is public knowledge. If you're interested in the translation of the Latin bits, DM me on discord @markisstreaming

Oratio ad Infernum

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“Ne derelinquas me, Domine.” prayed the man in his desperation. But what tragedy befell him, that he should pray for thus?

 

It happened thus. Siegfried, in his desperation for power, contacted some Barrowlord, for he did not know that the wretched being did not take kindly to those who serve the Infernal. Thus, the clueless fool met this being, in the abandoned city of Celia’nor, where the two started talking. After the Barrowlord inquired about Siegfried’s reasoning as to why he despised the Empire, the young warlock revealed, the Empire’s men unraveled some scheme of his, and thus, his teacher had to move.
The Barrowlord questioned further, and, willingly, the warlock gave up the fact that, through some unforeseen events, he had come in contact with the Infernal, and started to harness its power. This was not taken too kindly by the Barrowlord, and as such, it had set out to kill our poor warlock.

A fight was put up, as expected, but all in vain, as the Barrowlord held powers which Siegfried could not even fathom, and thus, he was knocked down. The warlock was then offered death, or to give up his grimoire, which he treasured greatly, alongside either his sight, or hands. In truth, Siegfried was somewhat of a coward, perhaps, or he had seen some advantage to staying alive, even with such a wretched existence, and thus he chose to give up the book, along with his sight; a decision he later came to regret, as you shall see soon. If such a fate was not enough, the Barrowlord only served to worsen the poor man’s destiny, by carving the word ‘M A L E F I C A R’ on his forehead.

 

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Desperation. Using a stick, somehow, most definitely with the providential help of his Lord, the warlock managed to wander into the desert, into the small town of Ipanema. There, his teacher greeted him. Siegfried’s world was clouded with desperation, he felt as though his life had ended at that moment. He could not see. No sight meant he could no longer read from his grimoire, which was gone as well. Thus, he was now even more useless, or at least, felt like it, than before.

He asked his teacher to help him, at the very least, with the word on his forehead. His teacher, however, could only think of the most barbaric way to repair it; her solution was to burn the man’s head, thus, in place of the word, leaving a nasty scar. For this, luckily, the teacher was gracious enough to put the man into a deep slumber, using Nightsap tea. He then asked his teacher to allow him to stay in her house, for he possessed none, to which she agreed.
Thus, the wretched man was safe, at least for the time being.

 

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After some days of wallowing, grieving the loss of his sight, he was reminded of the words of his teacher, who had told him, prior to these events, that, apparently, some High Lord of Hell had claimed his soul. Thus, he had someone to barter with, to pray to, for surely, God would not hear his pleas. He was not accustomed, however, to Demon worship, thus, he knelt before the Cistern, and compiled a prayer, which he would then recite, over, and over, and over again.

“Miserere mei, Domine, qui animam meam protegit, et dona mihi visionem, Dominum.”

Thus he prayed, from the moment he woke, until the moment sleep overcame him. After months and months of this, and no help, no comfort from his Lord, not even a sign that his prayer was heard, Siegfried fell into even deeper desolation.
“Ne derelinquas me, Domine. Da visionem mihi, O Domine.” He pleaded. No answer. “Anima mea suspice, Domine! Tuus sum in aeternum!” Bribery did not work, either. Siegfried wept. He recalled and recited the words of the burial sequence, praying thus into the void, which did not respond: “Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? Quem patronum rogatorus? Oro supplex et acclinis, cor contritum quasi cinis…” He knew not what else there was to plead, or to whom. He had no patron willing to help him. He felt lost.

 

From the heart, then, came his final prayer. It was not dressed in fancy language, nor in words of praise. In Common, he prayed thus, ultimately:

“Help me, whoever hears me. For I shall surely perish.”

Edited August 19, 2025 by HandsomeFloppa