Moira's Dream

This is a dream had by Moira Magee on the night that she slept with the lute formerly belonging to Teresa Keynes, after she had apparently died.

After several minutes of uncomfortable shifting, you drift into a fitful sleep. As your mind’s eye awakens, you find yourself in a vast chamber, humid and hazy with incense. You wheel around, and you realize that you are in the center, standing on a polished marble platform with an imposing and evil symbol engraved into it: the symbol of Nessus, the Ninth level of hell. Circles of marble expand from where you are standing, each bearing similar symbols. Caina, Cocytus, Malebolge, one for each of the nine hells.
Your gaze rises, and you see several Tiefling clerics circling you, swinging lanterns of menacing construction, tossing various ritualistic components in their wake. Their faces are shrouded in shadow. From the ambient humming of the room, your ears pick out the telltale inflections of an incantation, in a voice belonging to a young and determined looking Tiefling, standing on a pedestal overlooking the marble platform, and reading steadily from a spell book in the Infernal tongue. The words are alien to you, yet somehow you can understand them, listening for bits and pieces of meaning.
“…fall of grace, and your heart stops within you…”
You stand perfectly still, and direct your gaze past the raving cleric and to the far side of the room.
“…a sister of ours, to deny the tomb your presence…”
A final infernal figure occupies the chamber, tall and grinning, adorned with a raiment decorated with skulls and deeply colored gems. This Tiefling is different; he radiates power. You can see his lips moving eagerly in time with those of the cleric.
“…Joyless and painless, carry this burden now until the moment of your last breath.” The spell book slams shut, and the circling clerics cease their pacing.
“Now, until the moment of your last breath.” They all echo in unison. An icy cold fills your lungs, and you fall to your knees as numbness spreads through your body. The Tiefling on the far end of the room paces towards you wearing an expression of sick elation.
“Rejoice, my dear. We are now united in love and flesh, eternally.” The numbness washes away, and is replaced with a monotonous and unfeeling sense of touch. The Tiefling senses your displeasure. “Worry not, the lack of sensation is a small price to pay for the power we have acquired. United we shall be unstoppable. Teresa Keynes kneels in front of me. Now,” He outstretches a hand. “Rise, Teresa Jones.”
You awaken to find that your knuckles are white from clutching Teresa’s lute.

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