Wizard's Gyre: The Collected Inktober 2019

Hover over each sentence to reveal the prompt.

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The covenant was consummated by the placement of the band -- thin circles of gold, silver, copper, lead, tin, iron, and mercury fused on a surface of underlying antimony and studded with tiny gemstones -- on the left middle finger, the central digit closest to the heart. The instant it was in place the ring emanated an energy that spread like an undirected, unthinking mob, accompanied by a droning, mesmerizing thrumming in the wearer's ears, suffusing the wearer's nervous system and blood stream, implacably permeating the heart, lungs, liver, brain, and other organs.
The patron knew the lure of the power he could grant was too strong for aspiring apprentices -- they wanted secrets or power or both with undisguised lust, and his offer drew so many candidates he could pick only the most talented to fulfill his special proclivities.
The nascent student fell stock still as the energy -- the presence -- instilled by the ring paralyzed every nerve and muscle, cold invading the hintermost reaches of her body, every particle of her being.
The patron cooed comforting words as he guided the parasitic essence through its new host, tearing apart and reassembling portions of her soul and mind to follow the blueprint he used to model his thralls, forming her into the perfect vessel.
The ring-wearer struggled inside, still unable to move as her new master's bulky frame glided out of the shadows to tower over her, and at last she managed a hoarse whisper: "Please…"
Her pleas, her tone of voice, pulled at the patron's soul, but not to charm him into mercy -- they fueled his desire to dominate and control her. The weakness of her defenses against his domination were surprising, but only testified to the pull his promises had; he knocked down the last feeble resistance in her mind and implanted a much stronger compulsion to obey, even love him.
The apprentice swayed ever so gently in response to the tugs and pulls of her master on her sou as her consciousness vacillated similarly between the preservation of her core psyche and the powers and knowledge she craved even now as she realized the full price she must pay. Like the tiny series of bands that formed the ring she wore, the bars of the psychic cage she had entered were distinct: iron controlled her body; gold enslaved her thoughts; silver bound her heart; tin tied her soul to him by contract; mercury drew the limits she could move; lead connected her mind to her master; and copper entwined her life force with his.
The patron used the metaphor of a mountain to enforce the relationship; he was an indomitable peak, crowned with white, and the soft flakes were the accumulation of his apprentices and their power. He buttressed his authority with a second image: his new student was a young wyrm, bound with heavy chains, forced to obey its captor's imposed will, whether it would or no.
Still paralyzed, a deep, hidden part of the apprentice grinned, for small dragons grew too big for their chains eventually, and it was not snow on the mountain -- in her mind, it was the remnants of former embers.

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In the coming days the apprentice realized the enormity of her task to keep her core self in tact -- her master's control was powerfully vital, overwhelming her being like vines and weeds in a garden neglected for decades. Her scheme had been built from intense scrutiny of the stories -- every tale, rumor, or fable having to do with the sorcerous bond she could discover -- to find the traditions and truths that formed the myth of a thaumaturgical master's subjugation of an apprentice. But her blueprint had gaps, things the stories had never recounted, most especially the savage, uncontrollable passion with which her master's will asserted itself in every fiber of her body.
Yet she refused to be reduced to a mere decoration, completely wrapped around the master's finger and, if not for the power he took from her, no more important than an accessory; the core nature of the bond meant there was a two-way connection, and she was discovering more details previously hidden under the surface charms she had learned from the stories.
The master revelled in the euphoria his unusual apprentice's essence delivered to him; of course he knew her plans to escape, and despite her deviance from submission, he still knew he had her utterly subjugated. She only became more bound by his thrall as he hammered her in the forge, beating her soul into the exact shape of the tool he desired. The ring and the ritual bound her just as surely as a physic binds a broken arm, while his shaping only flung her will further into his control. Each hour he sent his power and his will through her leaving his trail everywhere it stepped, marking her body and soul with his passage.
On this iteration, he discovered an unexpected prize -- a raw, untapped nugget of sorcerous power, previously hidden from him but surely buried deep on purpose. Like many of his previous thralls who haunted his demesne, this new apprentice had tried to trick him, as if she could possess him instead of he possessing her. The tricks she had attempted had been tried many times before, almost as long as the eldritch ritual had existed. Those who lusted for power, as all the candidates did, could not see clearly, and while they tried to reverse the covenant flow, a vigilant master could easily block their efforts with vertigo-inducing force.
With mystical tendrils of his apperception he sampled the flavor of this secret accumulation of power -- shuddering from its exquisite but unusual nature. She made a sudden spasmodic movement, with no clear target, as if flailing about to discover how to illuminate a room. He smiled, vaguely amused by her continued feeble efforts, and covered her with his power, wrapping it tightly about her, whispering comforting words that commanded submission.
He saddled a flow of power from his newly acquired reservoir, set his will astride it, and sent it to his apprentice to reinforce her peonage. The power flowed through him, and in its wake where it normally invigorated his tendons and annealed his mind, he discovered a laceration through which the arcane force reversed its course. The thaumaturgist grasped at the tendrils as they fled, emptying him of all vigor, but felt his body and will constricted, bound in place.
"So easily distracted," echoed the mind of his apprentice in his own, "and too confident to recognize the strange power that corrupted your plans, and brought mine to fruition."