Azrath's hunger for forbidden knowledge drove him far beyond the normal bounds of sorcery. He sought out reclusive sages, consulted ancient texts in forgotten languages, and uncovered rituals long thought lost. Azrath and Potabeau’s partnership had always been an unusual one. The dark and brooding necromancer, a boy with a mind filled with dark ambitions, and the clever, irreverent rogue who preferred to spend his time with riddles and jest. But while their personalities were strikingly different, they shared one common bond—an insatiable curiosity about the philosophies of life, death, and everything in between.
It was a dreary evening when they found themselves in the quiet corner of the library of Valthor, its shelves heavy with dusty tomes on necromancy, alchemy, and obscure arcane practices. Azrath stood at a large oak table, hunched over a yellowing scroll, his bony fingers carefully tracing the ancient text. Potabeau, ever the skeptic, sat in the corner, flicking through a book on the art of illusions, clearly bored but entertained by his own wit.
"Azrath," Potabeau called out lazily, spinning a pencil between his fingers, "I think I’ve found something truly fascinating. It’s called 'The Art of Illusory Charm.' I’m starting to think this is the real secret to immortality—be so charming that no one cares if you die." He let out a sarcastic chuckle, glancing over at his friend. “Maybe it’s not for you, though, eh? You’ve got that whole ‘undead’ thing going for you. Charm is optional when your flesh is falling off.”
Azrath, his eyes narrow and glowing with a cold fire, didn’t acknowledge Potabeau’s mockery. His focus was still on the scroll before him. The ancient language scrawled on the parchment was difficult, filled with complex diagrams that described the interaction between life forces, the energies that bound living creatures to the realm of the living, and the dark energies that held sway over the dead. It was a delicate balance—a mystery few dared to truly explore.
But Azrath wasn’t just anyone.
His eyes flicked to Potabeau, who was now flipping through a book on illusions with exaggerated interest. “Potabeau,” Azrath began, his voice low, “you’ve read these. The old scrolls from the Forbidden Temple. Tell me—do you believe it? That one can truly control the forces of life and death, that we could be more than just mortals?”
Potabeau raised an eyebrow, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Ah, the big questions. Life and death. Immortality. You’re in that mood again. Frankly, Azrath, I think we’ve been through this. You want to control death, sure. You want to stop it. But let me remind you—we’re not exactly immortal, buddy. The whole world dies at some point. That’s what makes it interesting. Otherwise, it would just be... boring."
Azrath’s grip tightened on the scroll. “I don’t believe in ‘boring,’ Potabeau. But I do believe in an answer. We could learn to control it. To separate life from death, to manipulate the forces that keep us alive.” His voice softened, a hint of reverence in it. “The key is the soul. The soul is what ties us to life, but it also carries the potential to transcend death. If we can learn how to separate it from the flesh, how to keep it from decaying, then we can truly control life and death.”
Potabeau snorted, not taking his eyes off his book. “Yeah, sure, a tiny bit of soul separation. That’ll turn you into a god or something. I still think your best bet is to charm your way out of dying. After all, who’s going to kill you when you’re irresistible?”
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Azrath ignored him, his mind racing through the ancient knowledge before him. He could feel the presence of something vast and unknown behind the words—something powerful that had been waiting for the right mind to unravel it. He would be the one to unlock it. Not just for power, but for a reason much deeper than that.
“Potabeau,” Azrath said suddenly, as if struck by a thought. “You know... I’ve been thinking about life lately. About what keeps it going.”
The rogue looked up from his book, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “Well, that is a new one. I thought you were all about making life stop, not thinking about what makes it tick.”
Azrath’s gaze hardened, his expression unreadable. “No, not stop. Understand it. Control it. Death is not the opposite of life, Potabeau. Life and death are two sides of the same coin. If you can control one, the other becomes yours to command.”
Potabeau rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? I’m just here for the fun of it. You keep getting all deep, and I’m stuck trying to figure out how to make the perfect illusion to impress the village girls.”
Azrath shot him a glare, his tone turning colder. “I’ll need more than illusions, Potabeau. I’ll need the deepest secrets. There’s something to life itself that we have yet to understand, something no one has dared to fully grasp. But we will.”
Potabeau raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. You want to understand life? You want to play with souls and death? Fine. But you’ve gotta admit—lately you’ve got more of an obsession with maids than with actual research. Maybe you should focus on one thing at a time, Azrath.”
Azrath's expression faltered, and for the briefest of moments, the intensity in his eyes softened. It was true, he had a brief experience with the vivacious natures of Autumn and Lilac. He had a fascination with the idea of the maiden. The way life and vitality were tied to youth, to the delicate nature of beauty, of innocence. It was not just because he had a longing for companionship or some perverse desire, but because he had always been curious about life in its purest, most vibrant form.
Perhaps it was because it was something he could never truly possess, not in the way he wanted. Mortality was fleeting. Life, so vibrant and fleeting, was something Azrath had learned to both envy and despise. He wanted to understand it, to take it in his hands and control it, to make it last. To keep the joy, the beauty of it, forever.
“Potabeau,” Azrath said quietly, after a moment of silence, “when we understand life and death, we’ll understand true morality. The living, the dead, the boundaries that separate them. And when we do, we’ll be able to bend the rules. We’ll be able to preserve life, keep it from ever fading.”
Potabeau leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face. “Preserving life, huh? What, so you can make everyone around you immortal? You are aware that you’re planning to turn into a walking corpse, right? Seems a little counterproductive to me.”
Azrath ignored the jab, his gaze fixed on the pages before him. The secrets were there, waiting. The allure of power was close now—closer than ever. He could almost taste it.
“We’ll see, Potabeau,” Azrath said, his voice taking on an almost predatory edge. “We’ll see how far we can push these boundaries. Once we control death, we’ll control everything.”
Potabeau chuckled, shaking his head in mock dismay. “Ah, Azrath. If you weren’t so obsessed with your studies, I might just think you were a dangerous romantic. You really do want to keep everyone alive forever, don’t you? Well, best of luck with that, my friend. I’ll be here, ready with my charm, when you finally figure out how to do it.”
Azrath smiled thinly. “And when I do, Potabeau, you’ll be the first to see the power I’ve gained. We’ll make life our plaything.”
The rogue gave him an exaggerated bow. “And I’ll be there, with bells on, to enjoy the show.”
Together, the two of them continued their work, Azrath driven by his obsession with the mysteries of life and death, Potabeau with his wit and ever-present detachment. But in their shared pursuit of knowledge—however twisted, however dangerous—it was clear that nothing, not even the most fatal of forces, would stop them. They were on the edge of something vast, something unknowable. And with their combined intellects, they might just push the boundaries of life and death further than any mortal had ever dreamed.
