62nd Day of Fall, 513 A.V.
The Quarters, Citadel, Sahova
The nuit finished gathering his things from his small cell of a room. He was not so dumb as to think this place held some privacy. The Sahovan Wizards and the Archwizard had eyes in the very walls of probably every room in the citadel. The undead apprentice thrust the Kris into his belt once again. He had made it a habit of carrying the weapon with him now. In Sahova, you never knew when you might need to fight for life or limb.
Pandaemus tapped the ground in front of the Sikuva’s cage. The snake uncoiled a bit and raised it’s head to him, but did not hiss. It was all too familiar with him now to care much about his movements. Pan smiled ruefully. He was below even a common garden snake’s interest. Such a status had its merits. Weeks in Lab 15 and Pan was beginning to suspect he was the lowliest and most ignored apprentice in the entire lab. Lab 15 was larger than most by the way he understood it. Cid often ignored him unless his words directly pertained to the task the elderly man had set him. Pan knew it was to break him in, to make him a tool to be used. Cid was counting on his ambition and his hunger for power to make him fold and submit himself to the hierarchy of Sahova. Pan was grudgingly beginning to realize that it was working. He left the room and made his way down the thin stone hall.
His head was filled with the day’s work. Another of Syna’s reign spent far from the sun, bent over a desk or workbench. He hoped he would be done with the work set to him by the time Cid came around to check. It never hurt to show the man he could work fast. And if one made the man check in on him twice, well that wasn’t exactly a good mark in the books. Pandaemus never planned for a ‘Cid’ to block his rise at Sahova. But the more he looked, the more he saw ‘Cids’ everywhere. He was becoming a Cid.
Brooding on his own thoughts, Pandaemus was moving quickly down the hall. He required no sleep and no sustenance. So there was no reason to stay too long from his work. In his season in Sahova he had become more fluid with his movements as an undead. The corpse was more sure of himself, more confident in his place in the citadel. He had work, he had a job, a room. He belonged there now. With all it’s shadows, corruption, and dark magics, Sahova was more his home than anywhere else now. The thought utterly depressed him.
The Quarters, Citadel, Sahova
The nuit finished gathering his things from his small cell of a room. He was not so dumb as to think this place held some privacy. The Sahovan Wizards and the Archwizard had eyes in the very walls of probably every room in the citadel. The undead apprentice thrust the Kris into his belt once again. He had made it a habit of carrying the weapon with him now. In Sahova, you never knew when you might need to fight for life or limb.
Pandaemus tapped the ground in front of the Sikuva’s cage. The snake uncoiled a bit and raised it’s head to him, but did not hiss. It was all too familiar with him now to care much about his movements. Pan smiled ruefully. He was below even a common garden snake’s interest. Such a status had its merits. Weeks in Lab 15 and Pan was beginning to suspect he was the lowliest and most ignored apprentice in the entire lab. Lab 15 was larger than most by the way he understood it. Cid often ignored him unless his words directly pertained to the task the elderly man had set him. Pan knew it was to break him in, to make him a tool to be used. Cid was counting on his ambition and his hunger for power to make him fold and submit himself to the hierarchy of Sahova. Pan was grudgingly beginning to realize that it was working. He left the room and made his way down the thin stone hall.
His head was filled with the day’s work. Another of Syna’s reign spent far from the sun, bent over a desk or workbench. He hoped he would be done with the work set to him by the time Cid came around to check. It never hurt to show the man he could work fast. And if one made the man check in on him twice, well that wasn’t exactly a good mark in the books. Pandaemus never planned for a ‘Cid’ to block his rise at Sahova. But the more he looked, the more he saw ‘Cids’ everywhere. He was becoming a Cid.
Brooding on his own thoughts, Pandaemus was moving quickly down the hall. He required no sleep and no sustenance. So there was no reason to stay too long from his work. In his season in Sahova he had become more fluid with his movements as an undead. The corpse was more sure of himself, more confident in his place in the citadel. He had work, he had a job, a room. He belonged there now. With all it’s shadows, corruption, and dark magics, Sahova was more his home than anywhere else now. The thought utterly depressed him.
