Zemos was inside his shack with Lockley after a moment. Skeever didn't appear to be there, probably on some errand or another. Zemos shivered for a moment. In another moment, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His fingers became clammy and cold. His heart raced. Something was invading his mind, he understood it not to be his own, and yet it was convincing enough to prompt him to shudder.
Then, Lockley coming in behind him, laid four fingers of each hand on Zemos' shoulders. Zemos slouched, his breath ragged, and yet continued to do nothing.
Eight Legs Brother-Father!
They have put their pincers upon us!
Will we be bled dry? Or coccoon,
Into the chyrsalis of a mighty moth?!
Zemos remained silent, but then screamed as Lockely swiftly and mercilessly dug his middle fingers into each eye.
No We Cannot See!
What is it Brother-Father?!
Is it Eight-Legs!
A sharp pain racked Zemos's body as he fell to his knees. He could feel etheric traces of arcana bleed from his eyes as suddenly despite not being able to see, visions were presented to him. He saw nothing but the Eight-Legged menace, spiders everywhere, venomous and deadly.
Razor sharp legs swiftly swept at him from all sides, and merciless dagger-like pincers rolled him into a cocoon. The silk burned him like acid, the smell of a familiar yet buried memory came to him. The scent of sterile cleanliness of Viden. The Bleached, White Halls.
No Brother-Father!
Do not go there!
Come back to Filth!
Come to The Plaguemother
We have need of you!
Feel beyond this false,
and immaculate lie.
Zemos would try, he knew this was an illusion, in his head, but maybe not? Perhaps the Eight-Legs had been in league with the Emperor all along... Perhaps...
But that didn't matter. Be it as it may, he knew what had preceded those torturous moments. That he'd been offere dan induction into the world of Glamour magic. This was just an attempt by the spark to take over immediately and subsume his will to become a true monster.
So with every ounce of determination Zemos pushed back agains the illusory veil. He slapped his way out of the cocoon, as if it wasn't there, because it wasn't. Then he tore through the gauntlet of spider legs and teeth and pincers, leaving the illusory prison of his mind. He saw beyond the illusions, disbelieved it, and came out the other side, groaning and clawing his way across the floor.
His eyes had not yet recovered, but miraculously appeared to regenerate slowly, as he could feel them growing back from when Lockley had blinded him.
"Lockley?" He called out to no answer.
Then a creak of the door of his hovel opened, and familiar footfalls entered. "Skeever?"
"Master, what happened?"
"Fetch me some ocular tinctures, healing tinctures." Zemos pointed in the general direction, his faculties slowly returning.
She did as asked, and he could hear her footfalls making the way over toward the medicine supply. In a few moments, she was back at his side, and pushed the phials into his hands. There, he took the dropper and aimed them for the general area of his eyes. Just the right amount.
This would ensure clean healing, perhaps. Or perhaps he didn't need it. But it was sensible to attempt a remedy in every contingency.
"Thank you Skeever."
"You didn't answer me, Master."
"Lockley, he..." Zemos began, but then shook his head. "The Emperor Beneath granted me power. I can only surmise this will come at a cost." Zemos didn't know if the Emperor had intended to create a monster, or just empower one of his followers. Perhaps both options were okay with him. Perhaps he favored one over the other? At any rate, Lockley was nowhere to be found, and would be unavailable to teach him the ways of Glamour.
Still, Zemos was clever, and had a good sense of himself and his place in the world. Through meditation, perhaps things would be revealed.
"Please stay nearby, while I heal." Zemos asked Skeever, as he rolled himself up into a cocoon in the corner, to shake off the lingering pain of initiation.
Skeever nodded, and stood by, in the shadows where she appeared to almost disappear.
