58th of Ashan, Arc 716
It was late afternoon. The sun had begun to set, and Alistair had gone to his studies within the halls of the Coven headquarters. All day, and for curious reasons, apprentices left and right continued to check in on him - some informed him they'd be happy to "assist his needs", while others offered meals, and some quite clearly made advances towards him. Some of them sought approval, or training, or a duel of magical capability. Either way, he'd begun to question why so many people were harassing him today. He could've sworn he kept his door locked on most occasions. In fact, he was surprised that he hadn't checked his lock the first time someone had intruded into his room.
Rising from his seat, he moved towards the door and began to examine the entryway. Judging by the looks of it, it appeared as if it had been seared off, melted into two. Strange. As he moved his fingers to touch the burnt lock, a girl appeared in the gap between the door and its frame. "Letter for you," she told him. Alistair accepted it as she slid it between the opening, removing the blank seal and unrolling the contents.
Ali,
I burnt off your lock as a gift, and proceeded to tell the apprentices that you were searching for a sexual partner in exchange for magical tutoring. Love you.
-E
"E"? That was what Ellasin wrote on her letters. Surely she wasn't that . . . immature. It was bloody Ellasin - the Necromantress. The Lich Queen. Not an academy prankster!
Before he knew it, another girl appeared. This one had remarkably pale skin, as if she'd begun to experience skin necrosis. "Letter for you, Nathaniel," she told him. He nodded . . . and accepted it in much the same way as the last.
Ali,
You are dumb, ugly and smelly. And frankly, your jokes are almost always in poor taste. None of the apprentices wanted you. You're still not properly deflowered, even after my excellent advertisement. What does that say about you?
-E
"...What?" he could only ask. "Is Ellasin intoxicated?" He was baffled. The prank was already difficult for him to believe, but calling him a dumb, ugly, smelly virgin wasn't something that he could ever see the Lich doing. Yet, it was her signature. And she called him "Ali", which was a name quite exclusive to him from her. Most members of the Coven didn't even know his real name. They called him "Nathaniel", a code name, to conceal his identity as a nobleman of a Great House.
Before his eyes, and as he pondered, a new letter appeared - dropping from a tear in space and onto his table.
Ali,
I am not Sera Ba Randil. Instead, I'm merely your new irritation. If you want to be rid of me, seek out the Crimson Skinbane in the woods to the east of the city walls. In his tendrils will be the cure to my disease; my invasion of your "space".
-E
Sera Ba Randil was . . . the Ancient Tongue for Ellasin's rank in the Coven; it meant the Witch or Warlock, the leader of the Order. Alistair was utterly perplexed by this "creature" and it's bizarre way of speech. And - he didn't know what a Skinbane was, let alone a "Crimson" one. What if there were many "Crimson Skinbanes"? Would he have to slaughter them all to uncover this answer he'd been sent to procure? The day had been strange, indeed. But it was growing stranger, and as the taunts of this chatty prankster grew more commonplace, he determined it would be wise to do as it asked, and perhaps learn something in the meantime.
That, and he wouldn't mind going on an adventure. If this Coven prankster had put this great a deal of effort into the game he'd set up, surely there were things to be learned at the end.
Alistair began to set out. He put on light armor, with fur clothing underneath, strapping the pieces together and placing his conduit around his neck, tied to a string. Shortly afterward, he made his way to the forest, towards the edge of the city. As the tall trees came within sight, outside the boundaries of Ne'haer's walls, Alistair looked toward the forest in utter confusion. He needed to find a Skinbane.
What was a Skinbane?
It was late afternoon. The sun had begun to set, and Alistair had gone to his studies within the halls of the Coven headquarters. All day, and for curious reasons, apprentices left and right continued to check in on him - some informed him they'd be happy to "assist his needs", while others offered meals, and some quite clearly made advances towards him. Some of them sought approval, or training, or a duel of magical capability. Either way, he'd begun to question why so many people were harassing him today. He could've sworn he kept his door locked on most occasions. In fact, he was surprised that he hadn't checked his lock the first time someone had intruded into his room.
Rising from his seat, he moved towards the door and began to examine the entryway. Judging by the looks of it, it appeared as if it had been seared off, melted into two. Strange. As he moved his fingers to touch the burnt lock, a girl appeared in the gap between the door and its frame. "Letter for you," she told him. Alistair accepted it as she slid it between the opening, removing the blank seal and unrolling the contents.
Ali,
I burnt off your lock as a gift, and proceeded to tell the apprentices that you were searching for a sexual partner in exchange for magical tutoring. Love you.
-E
"E"? That was what Ellasin wrote on her letters. Surely she wasn't that . . . immature. It was bloody Ellasin - the Necromantress. The Lich Queen. Not an academy prankster!
Before he knew it, another girl appeared. This one had remarkably pale skin, as if she'd begun to experience skin necrosis. "Letter for you, Nathaniel," she told him. He nodded . . . and accepted it in much the same way as the last.
Ali,
You are dumb, ugly and smelly. And frankly, your jokes are almost always in poor taste. None of the apprentices wanted you. You're still not properly deflowered, even after my excellent advertisement. What does that say about you?
-E
"...What?" he could only ask. "Is Ellasin intoxicated?" He was baffled. The prank was already difficult for him to believe, but calling him a dumb, ugly, smelly virgin wasn't something that he could ever see the Lich doing. Yet, it was her signature. And she called him "Ali", which was a name quite exclusive to him from her. Most members of the Coven didn't even know his real name. They called him "Nathaniel", a code name, to conceal his identity as a nobleman of a Great House.
Before his eyes, and as he pondered, a new letter appeared - dropping from a tear in space and onto his table.
Ali,
I am not Sera Ba Randil. Instead, I'm merely your new irritation. If you want to be rid of me, seek out the Crimson Skinbane in the woods to the east of the city walls. In his tendrils will be the cure to my disease; my invasion of your "space".
-E
Sera Ba Randil was . . . the Ancient Tongue for Ellasin's rank in the Coven; it meant the Witch or Warlock, the leader of the Order. Alistair was utterly perplexed by this "creature" and it's bizarre way of speech. And - he didn't know what a Skinbane was, let alone a "Crimson" one. What if there were many "Crimson Skinbanes"? Would he have to slaughter them all to uncover this answer he'd been sent to procure? The day had been strange, indeed. But it was growing stranger, and as the taunts of this chatty prankster grew more commonplace, he determined it would be wise to do as it asked, and perhaps learn something in the meantime.
That, and he wouldn't mind going on an adventure. If this Coven prankster had put this great a deal of effort into the game he'd set up, surely there were things to be learned at the end.
Alistair began to set out. He put on light armor, with fur clothing underneath, strapping the pieces together and placing his conduit around his neck, tied to a string. Shortly afterward, he made his way to the forest, towards the edge of the city. As the tall trees came within sight, outside the boundaries of Ne'haer's walls, Alistair looked toward the forest in utter confusion. He needed to find a Skinbane.
What was a Skinbane?
