Light and Shadows

Keys for All Occasions: The Maw

Takes place soon after the arrival of the mortal forces in the Shadowlands

The Maw was so dark it hardly mattered if Renathal's eyes were open or not, but he kept them shut anyway. Never would he have imagined a darkness that could bother him; Revendreth was a realm shrouded in perpetual twilight, after all. But he understood now. He had never encountered true dark before, never known what it meant to be consumed by darkness. The thought was horrifying, and humbling. Which Renathal supposed had been Denathrius' intention in condemning him here for the foreseeable eternity.

His allies - his friends - had been taken into Torghast, and Renathal wondered if it was hubris to wish he had been as well. He had thrown all his remaining magic at the Mawsworn guards who dragged them away, fully expecting to be destroyed and more than willing to meet his end. Throughout his short-lived rebellion, Renathal had known this was the most likely outcome. But after eons of the same endlessly spinning wheel of existence, he found destruction less of a deterrent and more of a new and potentially exciting opportunity. Like he used to feel when meeting the souls of some unknown species. But it was millennia since Renathal had encountered anything new, and he had craved the experience.

Well, now he had it, and in plenty.

Helplessness, powerlessness, the utter despair threatening to suffocate him: these were all brand new things to Renathal. The firstborn of Denathrius had never endured such torments, only inflicted them on others. And as the hours passed into days, and days passed into time uncountable, Renathal realised how very fitting his punishment was. He had damned his friends out a selfish desire for change and in recompense he was sentenced to an eternity of staring at the same dark patch of hellscape.

The irony elicited a mad grimace of a smile. And then the very last breath of Renathal's dark humour was extinguished, and he surrendered to despair.

He could not fight - he had already exhausted his last vestiges of power by the time the Incarcerator had thrown him into this cage; and he could not plan - the Maw leeched all coherent thought, along with the anima that was his essence. He tried to contort himself to pick the lock of the cage, but either his skill had faded with disuse or the Maw had sapped him of that ability too.

In desperation, Renathal had even begged the Purpose for rescue. It wasn't so impossible, was it? After all, there was a Maw Walker now, wasn't there? But perhaps not... perhaps that had simply been more lies by Denathrius. Perhaps the Purpose was as well. Every solid thing Renathal had ever known was suspect. He had nothing left to trust but his own mind, and even that the Maw would take soon.

Already, Renathal could feel madness lurking on the outskirts of his thoughts, like a beast stalking its prey. Voices whispered outside his cage, but every time Renathal turned his head, convinced someone was calling his name, there was nothing to be seen but the same dreaded, unending expanse of black. So he'd learned to keep his eyes shut tight no matter what he heard, focusing instead on memories, preserving his sanity for his long as he could. But each attempt to hide his mind in a far-away pleasant moment was interrupted by -

Help us, Renathal!

That was the Curator calling him, so real he almost opened his eyes to look for her, but he caught himself in time.

How could you let this happen to us?

Tenaval's deep voice, hurt and betrayed. Renathal squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to block out the nightmare, but -

You've condemned us!

- the sound of Dehavia's pain gutted him. Whether the voice was real or in his head, the words were still true. She had trusted him; they had all trusted him. But-