Elem watched Serrif as he began to prepare another setup for the second concoction. It looked very similar to the first, which made sense, as a fire was pretty much a fire. When he spoke of the time involved in finding an antidote, it dawned on Elem that time was definitely an issue. He had never been poisoned himself nor treated anyone who had been poisoned. If it was affecting the body and killing it beyond its own capability to fight it, the healer would have little if any time to search for the right antidote at the right time. It reminded him of the sanctity of Rak'keli's touch. Being a healer without one would be very difficult.
An eyebrow was raised when Serrif seemed to have a lapse in memory. He watched the Muran man flip through his own journal and notes, looking for material that was relevant to this particular mushroom and process. It gave Elem a bit of a sinking feeling because he would have to rely on his memory and many little things might slip through the cracks between the end of the session and his time to make notes in his room. Once it was discovered that the setup would be identical, Elem noted the large P Serrif wrote on the new glassware and while he spoke of sand, the Zeltivan only had one thing on his mind.
"Serrif, I really feel like I need to get my journal and take notes. I felt that way when I first came in, but didn't want to miss anything. I want to have this process noted for my own records in case I find myself in your position. It looks like it is the same setup, so while the mushrooms are condensing, I am going to go get my quiil and ink and a journal. I will be right back." He didn't really give the Muran time to retort, wanting to be back as soon as possible. Stopping at the logbook and signing out, he walked coolly out of the room.
Once outside, Elem sprinted down the hall, narrowly avoiding Larik. "Sorry!", was all he got out, his mind set on getting his stuff. Before he knew it, he was in his room, scrabbling fora quill and a vial of ink. He flipped through one of the blank books he had brought with him, making sure it was actually blank. Once he was satisfied, he took off with the same speed, slowing down just before he reached the door. He stopped, caught his breath and walked back in. Elem took the time to log himself back in and then sat his things down nearby, where he had cut up the mushrooms.
Dipping the quill in the uncapped ink vial, he wrote "Concoctions"on the inside of the book. Elem dated the day at the top of the page and began to make notations to catch himself up to their current point. The mushrooms and their color, his pnemonic device to remember, the reasons to use fire and alcohol, the condensing, the glass stirrer and weight proportions of patients. He kept writing, looking up at Serrif. "So sorry, I really want to do this right. Where will we find sand?"
An eyebrow was raised when Serrif seemed to have a lapse in memory. He watched the Muran man flip through his own journal and notes, looking for material that was relevant to this particular mushroom and process. It gave Elem a bit of a sinking feeling because he would have to rely on his memory and many little things might slip through the cracks between the end of the session and his time to make notes in his room. Once it was discovered that the setup would be identical, Elem noted the large P Serrif wrote on the new glassware and while he spoke of sand, the Zeltivan only had one thing on his mind.
"Serrif, I really feel like I need to get my journal and take notes. I felt that way when I first came in, but didn't want to miss anything. I want to have this process noted for my own records in case I find myself in your position. It looks like it is the same setup, so while the mushrooms are condensing, I am going to go get my quiil and ink and a journal. I will be right back." He didn't really give the Muran time to retort, wanting to be back as soon as possible. Stopping at the logbook and signing out, he walked coolly out of the room.
Once outside, Elem sprinted down the hall, narrowly avoiding Larik. "Sorry!", was all he got out, his mind set on getting his stuff. Before he knew it, he was in his room, scrabbling fora quill and a vial of ink. He flipped through one of the blank books he had brought with him, making sure it was actually blank. Once he was satisfied, he took off with the same speed, slowing down just before he reached the door. He stopped, caught his breath and walked back in. Elem took the time to log himself back in and then sat his things down nearby, where he had cut up the mushrooms.
Dipping the quill in the uncapped ink vial, he wrote "Concoctions"on the inside of the book. Elem dated the day at the top of the page and began to make notations to catch himself up to their current point. The mushrooms and their color, his pnemonic device to remember, the reasons to use fire and alcohol, the condensing, the glass stirrer and weight proportions of patients. He kept writing, looking up at Serrif. "So sorry, I really want to do this right. Where will we find sand?"