Every now and then I can access memories and thoughts from a life that is no longer mine. Raining fire and brimstone on my foes. The simple joys of eating and sleeping. Standing up to the injustice of a petty, power mongering minor official underneath the weight of a mountain of earth and stone.
And every now and then I can call upon powers I used to wield. A curse, full of dark and corrupt energy escapes my lips, and someone around me visibly wilts as that power courses through their body, soul and spirit. It’s . . . frustrating . . . this new existence.
Shards and fragments of my former life give just enough tantalizing glimpses that I yearn for more . . . but I only receive tiny morsels, ephemeral and diaphanous slivers of memories and times and places and peoples.
Would that I had never uttered the Abyssal incantations that stored a fragment of my essence in the earthen and metal body I now wear. Would that I never prepared for the eventuality of a death that came all too soon and triggered the eldritch energies that reawakened me. Would that I had never gone against my beliefs and come back from the Void.