Chapter B4C49 - Nothing Runs Rampant
Herath Jorlin stirred in his sleep. Something tickled at the edge of his awareness, a touch as light as the fluttering wings of a butterfly brushing against his cheek. He would never have noticed at all, left to his wine-induced slumber, if only it hadn’t persisted.
His brow furrowed in his sleep as the subtle feeling of wrongness continued to grow, to poke against his magickally sensitive mind.
Restless, he began to toss and turn, until finally he started awake, bolting upright in his bed, silk sheets spilling loose.
“What in the Divines’…” he mumbled as he blearily grasped at the strange feeling that had roused him.
His head hurt, his mouth was dry as a bone and he felt vaguely ill. Just how much had he drunk before bed? Fumbling for the nightstand, he conjured a globe of soft light with a flick of his wrist and took hold of the glass of chilled water the staff had left for him.
Halfway to his lips, the glass slipped from suddenly numb fingers as the Magister realised just what he was sensing.
“No!” he cried, leaping from the bed, all thought of his poor condition driven from his head.
He barely had the presence of mind to throw on his night robe before he burst out into the corridor, wild-eyed and shouting.
“Attack! We’re under attack! Someone is casting a ritual in the estate!”