1st Trial of Saun, Arc 717
Etzos Bazaar
The raven peered down at the shop from above. It spiraled into a slow descent, carefully riding the wind towards the ground. The black wings wavered slightly in the wind. It made no sound, unlike its counterparts scavenging over the Bazaar. It saw what it was searching for and dove. The bird reached out with talons, groping as it beat its wings. In a flurry of flailing wings the raven grasped the blood red cloth with tiny black claws. It beat against the wind, launching back into the sky a heartbeat later, scattering the other cloth items on the table.
Even after the merchant’s furious screams the raven was silent. It beat against the air, flying higher and higher. It was a black dot with a long red tail like a banner in the sky. People watched and laughed as the bird made away with the merchant’s product. The incident was nothing more than an odd event in the course of a bright pleasant day. They had not seen the green glow of the raven’s eyes, nor the stillness of its heart.
As the bird soared down atop the ramparts of the Etzori wall a form came into view. The man stood up from where he was laying. He shook his head and blinked his eyes. It was always odd when he dropped the Link to one of his ravens. The difference of mobility between a human and a raven left him with an odd vertigo. Nevertheless, Neronin raised his hand and the undead bird flew into it roughly. Neronin caught the thrall by the throat and grasped the red cloth. He was satisfied as he looked at it with his own eyes rather than the ravens. It certainly would do nicely, and it was free.
Neronin wrapped the long cloth around his head as he had seen the easterners do when they visited Etzos. He had long pondered a way of hiding his ever growing witchbrand. It was reaching a point where his magic was evident to the close inspector. He could not allow his identity to be compromised. This would be an odd but effective solution for the public. He wasn’t sure yet how he would manage to divert Tabard with his dangerous receptive eyes. He had thus far managed to acquire a soft grey tunic that was long and had sleeves that would cover most of his witchbrands as well. Neronin had spent most of the morning enjoying observing the raven whilst it stole the items from the Bazaar. He could not very well go down himself with his witchbrand having grown so extensively. Neronin let his mind drift to the subject it had gone to in every calm moment since Ashan.
The Lich.
The concept of the crowning achievement in necromancy both elated and terrified him in equal measure. Neronin had been jarred by the utter extremity of it, shocked and surprised when he had first read Gavrel’s description of the final, grisly act. Now though, he thought that the path could not end in any other way. Of course the magic, that spark that coiled its existence around the dark place between life and death would require such a sacrifice for true power. The idea of shrugging off his own body, the form that had been his identity for so long, horrified him. It disgusted the mage. But it was tantalizing all the same. He could not help but yearn for it.
After all, he was more than his human form now. That was the whole point of the dark ritual. Transcendence of the weakness of humanity. That was the whole point of necromancy, of magic. He was reaching the point at which that was possible and it terrified him. Strength and focus were what he needed to combat this doubt. He had spent so long marching down this dark and lonely path that it was the only answer.
Etzos Bazaar
The raven peered down at the shop from above. It spiraled into a slow descent, carefully riding the wind towards the ground. The black wings wavered slightly in the wind. It made no sound, unlike its counterparts scavenging over the Bazaar. It saw what it was searching for and dove. The bird reached out with talons, groping as it beat its wings. In a flurry of flailing wings the raven grasped the blood red cloth with tiny black claws. It beat against the wind, launching back into the sky a heartbeat later, scattering the other cloth items on the table.
Even after the merchant’s furious screams the raven was silent. It beat against the air, flying higher and higher. It was a black dot with a long red tail like a banner in the sky. People watched and laughed as the bird made away with the merchant’s product. The incident was nothing more than an odd event in the course of a bright pleasant day. They had not seen the green glow of the raven’s eyes, nor the stillness of its heart.
As the bird soared down atop the ramparts of the Etzori wall a form came into view. The man stood up from where he was laying. He shook his head and blinked his eyes. It was always odd when he dropped the Link to one of his ravens. The difference of mobility between a human and a raven left him with an odd vertigo. Nevertheless, Neronin raised his hand and the undead bird flew into it roughly. Neronin caught the thrall by the throat and grasped the red cloth. He was satisfied as he looked at it with his own eyes rather than the ravens. It certainly would do nicely, and it was free.
Neronin wrapped the long cloth around his head as he had seen the easterners do when they visited Etzos. He had long pondered a way of hiding his ever growing witchbrand. It was reaching a point where his magic was evident to the close inspector. He could not allow his identity to be compromised. This would be an odd but effective solution for the public. He wasn’t sure yet how he would manage to divert Tabard with his dangerous receptive eyes. He had thus far managed to acquire a soft grey tunic that was long and had sleeves that would cover most of his witchbrands as well. Neronin had spent most of the morning enjoying observing the raven whilst it stole the items from the Bazaar. He could not very well go down himself with his witchbrand having grown so extensively. Neronin let his mind drift to the subject it had gone to in every calm moment since Ashan.
The Lich.
The concept of the crowning achievement in necromancy both elated and terrified him in equal measure. Neronin had been jarred by the utter extremity of it, shocked and surprised when he had first read Gavrel’s description of the final, grisly act. Now though, he thought that the path could not end in any other way. Of course the magic, that spark that coiled its existence around the dark place between life and death would require such a sacrifice for true power. The idea of shrugging off his own body, the form that had been his identity for so long, horrified him. It disgusted the mage. But it was tantalizing all the same. He could not help but yearn for it.
After all, he was more than his human form now. That was the whole point of the dark ritual. Transcendence of the weakness of humanity. That was the whole point of necromancy, of magic. He was reaching the point at which that was possible and it terrified him. Strength and focus were what he needed to combat this doubt. He had spent so long marching down this dark and lonely path that it was the only answer.
