The wizard
sat upon his throne, the air still think with opium smoke. Although the drug
was wearing off, he still possessed the numbness of mind, which all arcane
seekers cherished. Time started slowly moving again. Empty headed, he stood up
and sluggishly forced himself towards his desk, his cloak dragging behind him,
slipping away, revealing its wearer's lupine form. He threw himself on his
chair and opened one of many tomes – his dream journal. Eyes bloodshot and
sight still fuzzy he tried to read his last entry.

“Arktul – ocean caster" 

Hideous
name.

Opium abuse
was no mere ritual for a wizard. It numbs the mind and body, calming the soul.
In the deepest and darkest meditations, a psychonaut would transcend the
earthly realms, gaining sight of a world beyond and with it, forbidden
knowledge and uncanny visions. But what follows are sleepless nights filled
with anxiety, panic attacks, psychotic episodes and, as some early scholars
would term it, arcane madness.

 “Arktul
– ocean caster"

The wizard
dragged his fingers across the name, starring at it with hope of some divine
vision.

He growled
in frustration. There was something to that name. It was the reason for his
last opium session. But there was a reason he wrote it down as well.

“Arktul – ocean caster"

His body
felt less numb with time. He slowly got up and walked to his shelf, going
through the numerous tomes. He settled on a book, written by a present day
magician, regarding occultist from a few centuries ago. Skimming through the
pages, nothing caught his eye. Nothing of importance.  He took out another book, repeating the
process to no new results. He took out a third book, a fourth book, a fifth
book.

“Arktul – ocean caster"

The wizard
sat back at his desk, examining his dream journal. Besides those three words,
the page was empty. He went a few pages back, recalling his past entries. There
was nothing to link it back to the name. His mind was almost working at a
regular pace. He flipped the page. On the back of it there was a scribble.

“Wishcraft."

Wishcraft.
There was no memory of ever encountering that word. Nothing here made sense. He
remembered seeing something horrible. But why would he write it down? Was it a
message to himself? Perhaps after the initial shock, to try to remember what
had conspired?

“Arktul – ocean caster"

The more he
read the name, the more frustrated he became. What was Arktul? What was
wishcraft? What was any of it? And then it came to him.

“Arktul – ocean caster"

He stood
infront of the sea – limitless and overbearing. He gazed upward. The moon
appeared as it should, but felt grotesque. He saw waves of silver streams
engulfing it. He looked back at the sea. He stood as tall as it's iris. Arktul.
The ocean caster. Reality is only what it seems and those who see more can do
more and to do more is to craft a wish.

The wolf
started hyperventilating. He dragged his claws across the desk, gritting his
teeth. He was thankful for what little opium was left in his system.

“Arktul – ocean caster"

The wish of
everyone who dabbles in magick is to manipulate reality in anyway they see fit.
And what was brought forth to the wizard was the way to absolute manipulation.
What he saw in his dream broke him, but at the same time filled him with vigor
and a willingness to return to that realm and to bring about his age. An age where his rule is one and true. He would be sung for eons and immortalized with his name evoking fear, envy and awe in all who hear it. He would be supreme and equal to none. 

The
doorway to his chamber opened. The light from the upper levels burnt his still
sore eyes. His panic subsided. And something else arose.

-Francis?
Are you sitting in the dark again? – his mother cried out.

-Leave me
alone ma', I'm busy!

-Always
busy, never has time for his own mother! You could have at least taken out the
trash today! You are always sulking down there! When are you gonna get a job?
You are thirty-five already!

-I'm a
scholar ma'! I'm working right now! You wouldn't understand!

-I wouldn't
understand? Betty's boy has a nice job in an office and makes enough money to
support her and his own family! Do you know how I feel when the neighbors ask
me what my son does?

-No, ma'…

-I feel
shame! You live in my basement, you don't have a job, you've never gotten a
girlfriend! When will I be a grandmother, Francis? Tell me!

His mother
continued jammering. Francis dropped his head on his desk, starring at the
wall, trying to shut her out.

“Arktul – ocean caster"

-…I should
start a cult.