Before Anathia rose from her tomb to answer a new call to battle, there was only darkness, reflection, and the long, brutal work of deciding which memories of her past lives deserved to shape her Deathless form.
In Loremachine this week, we discover more about the Orgoth Graveborn warlock, Anathia, the Imperishable Desolation in the Reflections interstitial.
Across centuries of death, rebirth, conquest, and silence of her crypt. Anathia does something even the living Orgoth would fear. She judges herself.
Darkness. No brazier or sconce adorned the tunnel leading to the fighting pit, its bare walls absent of any form of illumination. A rectangle of brilliant light marked the exit ahead, oppressive and blinding by contrast to the murky corridor.
Anathia walked the passage toward the light, banishing yet more of the darkness with each step. Though young, she was ready for what awaited beyond. Her body was conditioned and well exercised, muscles dense and firm. Her mind was clear of distraction and focused in purpose. Her spirit was unbreakable and her conviction absolute.
This day would see her first triumph in this body. The initial step along a path which she would carve with relentless determination. She would earn her title, and honor her Fellgoeth masters in order to secure a new lifetime after this one, still in its infancy, was extinguished.
Warm sand flowed between Anathia's toes as she passed across the threshold and strode to the center of the training arena. The sun hung directly overhead, flooding the fighting pit and casting the watchers under the eaves in deep shadow. Her mother sat somewhere among those silhouettes, flanked by her many consorts. Anathia couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she could feel her judgment from afar, akin to an iron weight laid across her back.
To the abyss with you, she thought. You used to be my daughter. I have no need for your scorn.
Opposite, her trainer—a scarred champion from the gladiatorial pits named Erkuz—saluted her with his blade, a simple short sword, pitted with old blood. “If I kill you today, I will be eager to meet you again tomorrow.”
“If I kill you today, I will tell the glory of your death to your cradle,” Anathia replied. The words were old ones she’d never said before in this life, but she nonetheless found the shape of them comfortable in her mouth.
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