The Tower of Passion

Fingers tapped on the table. Tippety tappety tip. Rolling back and forth, driving him mad, hammering his head. 
It took a moment to realize they were his. Who was he? He didn't know, not quite sure anymore. He was happy though. He told himself he was happy. Was he?

Probably. He was what he wanted. He had what he wanted, he thought, sat in the shoddily built room, floor muddy and lit by a single candle. There was paper in front of him, scribbles covering them, that he couldn't read.

They had told him what to write, and he did it.

"High Mage, the new acolytes are here." A figure stepped in a tattered cloak, knight armour underneath covered in grime and muck. He was uncertain who he was, his name, just... One of the followers. Someone he had given the gift. The gift of gods.

They would never be as strong as him, of course, but his followers were... Powerful. Great. He loved them, loved that they followed him. He followed the stranger who was fully devoted to him out of the dimly lit room. As he entered the brightly lit courtyard, sunlight shining into his eyes he flinched. His head rung, and he pulled his cloak over, covering his eyes. 

His boots stuck in the mud as he walked past the fresh meat. His new acolytes, his new devoted. He could feel them shifting, their discomfort and awe clear as they saw - or did not see - his body hidden under the cloak unless he pulled it back. Just a floating fabric. He'd had to hide it in town but here, in his new fortress on this floor, he could let it embrace him. His new benevolent master, his new cloak, his power, his true self.

"ALL SALUTE THE HIGH MAGE" A husky, female voice shouted and the new Acolytes moved quickly into a salute. He remembered her name at least, his first follower. Yara. Tall, and strong, her cloak doing nothing to hide the strong orc's muscles, and her enormous frame.

He turned around, looking away from the acolytes. Irrelevant of how he felt, he had to put on airs. There weren't many of them yet - his party of six, and... Well he wasn't sure. Yara paid attention, he was just... He was living his dream. His desire. He thought they were maybe ten total.

The masters wanted more, and the masters gave him the power. So he would give them what they wanted... Even if he felt drained. Ruined.

He looked down at his palms, their mark there. It had come from his cloak, penetrating his hands painfully, erasing their center. But he had magic, at least.

"So you wish to be mages. To cast... Magic." He said, trying to project his voice like Yara. Trying to be commanding.

He slowly pulled back his hood. Every time he touched the fabric, his fingers tingled as if they... It didn't feel like anything. Empty, like he touched nothing, not even air. The marks in his hands thrummed. The acolytes gasped as they saw the master's third mark on his bald head- right on the back of his head. He didn't know what they could see in the scar, in the hole into Nothing on his scalp but they gasped.

Will any of these do?

He projected into the brand on his head, hoping his master would answer him - hoping they wouldn't, every time they spoke it felt like his brain was being wrung out, twisted, and torn. It wasn't right. But it gave him what he wanted.

They seemed to know it was hard for him to handle, keeping their communication short. Benevolent.

One. Three. Five. Six.

Your will will be done, masters. 

He sensed their approval, as they didn't send any response which he was grateful for. He turned around.

"Four of you have been found worthy" He announced, as he lifted his hands, they all looked nervous but two started to run. The second in line. The fourth in line. They all saw the palms of his hands, perfectly circular holes that led to nothing. Just like his cloak, just like the circle on his head.

He shouted an arcane phrase - nonsense, but it felt right. It felt like he cast a spell, as his hand trembled, and two tendrils - tentacles shot out, spearing through the heads of the runners, ending them as they collapsed. He felt a wave of pleasure, excitement, and wonder from the masters as the tentacles pulled back.

"You four will apprentice here!" He commanded, trying not to be sick as he watched the ruined bodies collapse to the ground. This was the price. Price for his desire. He just... needed to find those two women. It was all their fault, and he needed to punish them. And thank them. "Welcome to the Arcane Sanctum of Nothing!" he shouted, his voice felt shrill. Not as deep as he wanted. As powerful as he wanted it to be. "If they wish it, the Masters will grant you your wish - like they have with me, like with Yara!" He pointed at the woman, who threw off her cloak - normal, not like his special one. A small circular hole into nothingness was starting to form on her forehead, and thin cracks were traveling down her arm. 

They were both so excited to see how her power would manifest.

"Now bow! Bow and pledge your loyalty!" He was definitely shrill, and hoarse. But it was all worth it.

The acolytes bowed, pressing their foreheads to the mud as they pledged as one.

"We pledge our loyalty to the Arcane Sanctum" Yara, or one of the others must have instructed them prior to him turning up. She was so helpful.

"We pledge our loyalty to High Mage Gertram."

As he was. He was the most powerful. Casting spells of the void - communing.