Seething, uncontrollable anger was all he could feel in this moment. It was accurate to say that he was one with his anger; it permeated his very existence. Never, in all his travels, had he ever been so blatantly insulted. Tyros Atrems had been held captive countless times but no captor had ever been so audaciously, unforgivably offensive. The Story Master heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing but his searing rage. Fog, thick as lamb’s wool, billowed from him and fell heavy on the floor. The dark one and the pompous other communicated in their uncouth manner. But Tyros heard not their slander all he heard were the tempting whispers of revenge. Ignoring the conversation he was a bit shocked when he was lifted into the air and enshrouded in darkness.
The darkness was what snapped him out of it. It whispered dark things into his mind. It was as though the very darkness that surrounded him was alive. He tried to speak but the darkness swallowed his words and he made no sound. He tried to call out again but this time with his mind.
“Hello? Flame-haired? Dark one? ” He recalled the amulet and how it had changed when the strange being had touched it.
“Can you teach me to wield the power of the artifact around my neck?” He asked with a hint of desperation in his thoughts. He was scared to hear the answer…