3rd Trial of Saun, 717 Arc
Noth’s Cavern, Neronin’s Lab
Neronin ignored the hungry moans of the Maimers chained to the far wall. He kept the gaunt creatures there when he meant his mind to focus on other things. The cave held that dank smell of old water and the slight rank of the undead. Though their wells kept them from deteriorating, his undead nevertheless had a subtle scent. He had become used to much worse in his years of tutelage under Gavrel, however. Neronin was nearly out of breath, having carried the long, thin chest from the Bazaar all the way to Mongrel’s cavern. He groaned and set it down on top of the table in what had become his lab. Mongrel hadn’t come down to the lab in a long time, and hadn’t followed him this time either. Neronin got the impression the half-avriel was giving him space to work. The alternative, that he was unsettled by the Maimers, didn’t seem likely. After all, he had enjoyed their success in combat thus far. Either way, the privacy was welcome today, for focus was required.
Neronin stopped a flicker of annoyance crossing his face as Divinya set down the scribe’s kit, a leather bundle, on top of the chest with a smirk. She had enjoyed lording this over him. She maintained a knowledge he did not, though his sill in the dark craft of necromancy was much stronger than her own. He could tell by the state of her barely blossoming witchbrand, an inky tattoo upon her forehead. This had not stopped her finding his plea for instruction a cause for much jibing and humor. Neronin let her think her subtle jests irked him. In truth, he was much less prideful than she and her counterpart Carlos assumed. Pride was indeed a trait of the mage, but for so petty a reason as ignorance he could not muster it. No he was much too pleased to have someone to which he could talk of his dark magics.
Gavrel had been the only necromancer he had ever known. Gavrel who had tortured him. Gavrel who had come back to kill him. Gavrel who had escaped his wrath once again. Gavrel who was most decidedly not a woman with all the charms of a beauty honed to the perfect tool. Divinya caught him appraising her and met his eyes before indicating the scribe’s kit.
“Are you going to ready your notes, or not?” She had not looked at him like the others. Mostly, since his witchbrand had fully manifested and his skin paled to a light grey, the others had been sparing with their glances. The furtiveness and fear in their eyes had almost become annoying. With Divinya it was not present. She seemed to see his witchbrands as a natural evolution of power within the dark world they both shared. The vile and most powerful magic of necromancy.
Neronin opened the scribe’s kit, another recent purchase, and set out a quill and ink. He propped open his new journal, the old one having burned with the rest of his home. Divinya unfastened the latch on the chemistry kit and opened it. She began pulling out an assortment of glass containers and pipes as well as a tiny brass brazier. Neronin had put forth the significant gold for the chemistry kit and the new scribe’s kit. Divinya had agreed to give him some basic lessons.
“I am ready when you are, Divinya.” Neronin said, poising his quill over the blank journal. Behind him one of the Maimers gave a hissing rasp and raised a clawed hand towards them. Neronin paid the thing no mind, and Divinya only left her eyes flicker towards it for a moment.
“Of course.” She said, pressing her fingers into the table and leaning over the items she had set out. “Today I’m only going to explain some of the standard uses for various tools and give an overview of different processes you might use in chemistry.”
Neronin had wanted her to induct him into alchemy, but she had been adamant about starting with chemistry. The prudent alchemist, she had said, was one who respected the method. He would be attempting to run before he could crawl with dabbling in alchemy before chemistry. Neronin had conceded the wisdom of this.
Noth’s Cavern, Neronin’s Lab
Neronin ignored the hungry moans of the Maimers chained to the far wall. He kept the gaunt creatures there when he meant his mind to focus on other things. The cave held that dank smell of old water and the slight rank of the undead. Though their wells kept them from deteriorating, his undead nevertheless had a subtle scent. He had become used to much worse in his years of tutelage under Gavrel, however. Neronin was nearly out of breath, having carried the long, thin chest from the Bazaar all the way to Mongrel’s cavern. He groaned and set it down on top of the table in what had become his lab. Mongrel hadn’t come down to the lab in a long time, and hadn’t followed him this time either. Neronin got the impression the half-avriel was giving him space to work. The alternative, that he was unsettled by the Maimers, didn’t seem likely. After all, he had enjoyed their success in combat thus far. Either way, the privacy was welcome today, for focus was required.
Neronin stopped a flicker of annoyance crossing his face as Divinya set down the scribe’s kit, a leather bundle, on top of the chest with a smirk. She had enjoyed lording this over him. She maintained a knowledge he did not, though his sill in the dark craft of necromancy was much stronger than her own. He could tell by the state of her barely blossoming witchbrand, an inky tattoo upon her forehead. This had not stopped her finding his plea for instruction a cause for much jibing and humor. Neronin let her think her subtle jests irked him. In truth, he was much less prideful than she and her counterpart Carlos assumed. Pride was indeed a trait of the mage, but for so petty a reason as ignorance he could not muster it. No he was much too pleased to have someone to which he could talk of his dark magics.
Gavrel had been the only necromancer he had ever known. Gavrel who had tortured him. Gavrel who had come back to kill him. Gavrel who had escaped his wrath once again. Gavrel who was most decidedly not a woman with all the charms of a beauty honed to the perfect tool. Divinya caught him appraising her and met his eyes before indicating the scribe’s kit.
“Are you going to ready your notes, or not?” She had not looked at him like the others. Mostly, since his witchbrand had fully manifested and his skin paled to a light grey, the others had been sparing with their glances. The furtiveness and fear in their eyes had almost become annoying. With Divinya it was not present. She seemed to see his witchbrands as a natural evolution of power within the dark world they both shared. The vile and most powerful magic of necromancy.
Neronin opened the scribe’s kit, another recent purchase, and set out a quill and ink. He propped open his new journal, the old one having burned with the rest of his home. Divinya unfastened the latch on the chemistry kit and opened it. She began pulling out an assortment of glass containers and pipes as well as a tiny brass brazier. Neronin had put forth the significant gold for the chemistry kit and the new scribe’s kit. Divinya had agreed to give him some basic lessons.
“I am ready when you are, Divinya.” Neronin said, poising his quill over the blank journal. Behind him one of the Maimers gave a hissing rasp and raised a clawed hand towards them. Neronin paid the thing no mind, and Divinya only left her eyes flicker towards it for a moment.
“Of course.” She said, pressing her fingers into the table and leaning over the items she had set out. “Today I’m only going to explain some of the standard uses for various tools and give an overview of different processes you might use in chemistry.”
Neronin had wanted her to induct him into alchemy, but she had been adamant about starting with chemistry. The prudent alchemist, she had said, was one who respected the method. He would be attempting to run before he could crawl with dabbling in alchemy before chemistry. Neronin had conceded the wisdom of this.
