Grand Inquisition

Wyn forced himself to stay in his coffin.

Something was coming. No….

It was already there in the room with him.

A desolate silence descended on the room. Dread and despair swallowed up his nerve.

He felt like a small child again only this time. The monster underneath his bed had been replaced by something….

Ancient.

The blood surged within him. It roiled and writhed on its own. Screaming of the primal danger the owner of that aura posed.

Whatever it was had invaded his masters- mentor’s private sanctum.

He waited till the horrifying presence dissipated a bit. Wyn popped his coffin lid open.

Getting his ass kicked by a plant was forgotten.

Wyn steadied himself as pulled his curly golden locks back. He was glad he was dead or he would have pissed himself from fear. Or shit himself.

Either would have been entirely understandable. What did the fext say?

Wyn tried to recall the scant knowledge the dead thing taught him.

It was just at the tip of his tongue. Then a whisper.

Antediluvian

A shiver ran down his spine.

“Who’s there?” He asked. Spooked. As he looked around.

He could sense no one. Then the voices started.

A scream of pain.

Voices muttering softly.

The chittering and skittering of insectile legs.

“MY CHILDERN!” A hive queen screeched her mandibles clacking. He smelled the broken eggs. He felt them shatter beneath his feet.

“MONSTER!” “MONST-“The queen was torn asunder with a horrid squelching sound. Gore hit the floor.

Too much was going on. Too much information.

It hurt.

A minor headache pulsed into a roaring migraine. His felt his veins catch fire.

It was too much to bear.

Wyn roared as he felt himself come undone.

His mind shattered and splintered. Nothing made sense and yet now all things did.

To know none of the questions but most of the answers.

Splintering.

Fragmentated. For a moment he was the man on the moon.

Fractalizing.

Wyn looked down and saw all his siblings by blood. They stirred and slept fitfully.

They stared back at him.

The hive queen with her bulbous segmented unblinking eyes.

The slumbering king in his crypt far below the island depths.

The queen of the waypoint. Proud Elune.

She saw him.

“Zail lives.”

The Hive Queen clacked her mandibles amused.

“The Eldest Who Is Youngest.”

“The Youngest Who Is Eldest. The order doesn’t matter. What does matter is you need to get back to your coffin.” Elune ordered.

“Linger here and meet the rest of your brood. All of them”

More minds slowly turned to him. The cacophonous roar of so many minds.

 Wyn opened his eyes.

Everything was much more distinct. He crawled back to his coffin. His mouth cracked audibly as he forced the lid to close and blanket him in welcome darkness.

A library sounded nice and safe. Deep underground where sunlight doesn’t reach. Insight hit him like a lightning strike. He could see his library down to the slightest detail.

Every book, every parchment.

A library yes.

Drinan’s eyes opened.

He was covered in a blanket. He shifted there was an audible thunk as something heavy impacted the ground.

Of Mr.Weaver… There was no sign.

Logically, He should cut his losses. Accept that there was a gulf between them that could not be breached.

Drinan however politely told the reasoning part of his mind to shut up.

He wasn’t a quitter. He had been blind. He was a lieutenant of the grand inquisition for goodness sakes. The stories of horrible events befalling an inquisitor’s love was rampant and yet…

He had never thought to check Mr.Weaver for poison. For sexual disease yes.  What kind of inattentive lover was he? Mr.Weaver had been envenomed for who knows how long.

Mr. Weaver was different. Not in a bad way. Just well different.

 Little Spider would haunt him.  What if the reason he had stopped? What if a part of him wanted to be beneath him?

He’d catch that thief eventually. Give or take a decade at most.

What was far more important.

His lover had run off. He most definitely wanted to be beneath that solid frame.

Drinan did not love frivolously. His affections were not free.

It very well could end in tears.  He needed to know Mr.Weaver was okay.

He needed to know what was to become of them.

Drinan may not know the city but the governor sure as shit did.

He got up, The blanket slid off him. The sound of the thunk.

Drinan gingerly placed his hand around the hilt.

Tears hit the ground audibly. It fit his hand perfectly.

When did Mr.Weaver have the time? How could Mr.Weaver place such absolute trust in him? That Mr.Weaver’s guarded heart chose him.

Him.

Imperial custom was quite clear on this. If he accepted this blade. This token that he’d carry with him to battle and beyond.

….

If he accepted, it.

In the eyes of the gods. He’d be Drinan Weaver.

If he refused. He still had to give it back.

Either way. Drinan had to find him again.

“Mr.Weaver, You are insane.”

All or Nothing.

Oh there would be words between them. And possibly a visit to a mind healer.

It was such a devious plan.

The more Drinan thought about it. It’d weed out the doubtful, the unsure and the frivolous that was for sure. It was just the sheer ingenious nature of it.

To place all his trust on a gamble like that. It fit right in with that look Mr.Weaver shared with the grave digger division of the grand inquisition.

It was a crazy plan.

Drinan probably should schedule a mind healer appointment for himself.

“Guess I’m married now.”

Drinan Weaver whispered.

He didn’t know if he was supposed to be concerned that it fit.

“Drinan Weaver” he tested it out.

He could get used to it.

He packed quickly. He made sure everything was accounted for.

Drinan opened the door.

Utter silence accompanied it.

A visceral unnatural silence. Something had snatched Mr.Weaver. A sliver of fear crept into his heart.

What if, The poison in Mr.Weaver kept him safe? Drinan reasoned.

 Oh Gods.

Drinan had inadvertently ensured his lover got snatched by whatever left this horrid silence. This lingering dread.

  Drinan was pretty sure there wasn’t a “I got my lover snatched by monsters unintentionally prayer.”

If he was frank. Veol could absolutely smite him. He was the reason his lover was missing.

Dear gods.

What had he done?

Drinan Weaver clutched the sword and closed the door behind him.

He’d need more than one exorcist to cleanse this area.

He made his way to the black carriage.With hurrided quickness fixed the horses to the carriage.

“Veol, I know I messed up badly.

However, I can make amends so please don’t smite me into ash.”

He prayed as he picked the reigns and made with all haste back to the city.