Location: The Medical Library
Date: 10th of Winter, 511 AV
With a sigh, the young would be mage turned the aged page of the tomb splayed out before him and continued reading on the next line. It was a text that caught his eye, for who could rightly pass a journal titled 'A tonic best served with a blade in hand' without being just a little bit curious. He'd been hasty to read this one before any of the others he had picked up, and now he was finding himself to regret it for the first part of the book was proving to be very slow paced, and exacting offering no creative flourish like the bards tale he heard in a inn in Zeltiva in recent past. Perhaps he had been spoiled in such a way, left to have his mind subject to such simple pleasures that to take up such studying like he had in Riverfall was harder to enjoy or maybe some men where just better writers than others. He'd suffer through it either way though, for it really was informative whatever he might say about the quality of its content, and he didn't have to necessarily be entertained to learn.
Turning the page, his mind came to focus and he began reading, quietly whispering it aloud.
At last, the mind numbing lessons on how colorful a dandelion is, and how it might be proposed to be used in dye gave way to words he could appreciate, words that held his interest, though he truly wondered the value of the text to his studies at this point. Surly 'The eight uses of ginger root' would be a far more informative read, but then again it would also be far less compelling in the same light. With hardly a protest he found himself delving once more into the words, turning page after page as he absorbed the man's personal account.
He turned the page, but held off on reading it, the exposed mark on his left hand reminding him of something. Among the dusty corridors he found himself reading a strange tale much like when he first met eyris, the wonder of that single moment not lost on him after all that years. He owed much to the goddess but had yet to see her again, or even find a temple to her, though perhaps that was here way. It could be she wanted her followers spread among the world to be pillars of knowledge in their own right, though he did not presume to know the goddesses intentions. All he knew was that she marked him, and with that brought great clarity to his life, something he was thankful every day for. In a time where chaos reigned across the land, such a liberty was well received. Could it be that such a tale could be brought to knew light under the scope of the power eyris so chose to bless him with?
His palm rested now in the dead center of the book, and his fingers splayed Faraluun closed his eyes slowly and concentrated on a single spot of blackness shifting his focus from everything until his mind was completely open and his minds eye ready to observe. Willing the power, images burned quickly through his mind, scenes of flames consuming a small cottage, another portraying a man stooped over a candle writing reverently, and many many more images that he could hardly spare a glance at to remember. Fear he could sense weighing on the words, though also there was exhalation surging through him, though the two emotions seems entirely divided in the text though he could grasp little else from what had flashed through his mind. Suddenly he found his eyes opening and his breathing hard, his trembling hands holding the book before he got the presence of mind to set the book back on the table and settle back in his chair, taking a deep breath to settle his mind, and better sort out what had just happened.
Gulping hard, Faraluun took a look around to see if anyone had witnessed his little period of confusion.
Date: 10th of Winter, 511 AV
With a sigh, the young would be mage turned the aged page of the tomb splayed out before him and continued reading on the next line. It was a text that caught his eye, for who could rightly pass a journal titled 'A tonic best served with a blade in hand' without being just a little bit curious. He'd been hasty to read this one before any of the others he had picked up, and now he was finding himself to regret it for the first part of the book was proving to be very slow paced, and exacting offering no creative flourish like the bards tale he heard in a inn in Zeltiva in recent past. Perhaps he had been spoiled in such a way, left to have his mind subject to such simple pleasures that to take up such studying like he had in Riverfall was harder to enjoy or maybe some men where just better writers than others. He'd suffer through it either way though, for it really was informative whatever he might say about the quality of its content, and he didn't have to necessarily be entertained to learn.
Turning the page, his mind came to focus and he began reading, quietly whispering it aloud.
So was such the order of the great wizard, Tharofell that I had not but a choice to drop upon my knees and heed his command no matter how insane it sounded at the time. Really, who ever heard of a man curing a Zith of it's race, which my master so phrased it as an affliction rather acknowledging that it was a product of breeding. He'd suffer no protests I knew though, so I wasted not my breath on arguing with the stubborn man and instead seized the chance to take my leave. I had many things to think about after all, like how I might turn the prisoner into a man, insanity I know.
At last, the mind numbing lessons on how colorful a dandelion is, and how it might be proposed to be used in dye gave way to words he could appreciate, words that held his interest, though he truly wondered the value of the text to his studies at this point. Surly 'The eight uses of ginger root' would be a far more informative read, but then again it would also be far less compelling in the same light. With hardly a protest he found himself delving once more into the words, turning page after page as he absorbed the man's personal account.
The night hence I was setting my tools out to work on the corpse of one of the ugly monsters the guards found just outside the city when my master came in, and I couldn't help but to tremble under the man's gaze. It been weeks since the request had been issued, and I had made no progress to the man's ends thus far though I surly have experimented on at least a half a dozen, alive and dead zith. All that i have managed to learn thus far that none of the elixirs thus far I've tried on their bodies do much in the way of transformation, though one did melt the flesh off of that one subject. Oh how I can still hear those infernal screams.
I remain convinced that through no means could a zith become a man, though my master still remains stubborn on this point, and with my protests the day previous he has forbidden me to try any more potions on the beasts, and instead encourages me to use to better learn their body before trying anything else. I get off subject though. Last night, as I was splitting open the flesh of my most recent subject, the man came right up behind me to stand and look over my shoulder but said not a word. I continued to go about my work of course, assuming he would stop me to ask me something, but he never said a thing, and even a bell after I was finished and cleaning all my tools he was still standing their watching the body of the zith that vacant grey stare of his, before leaving wordlessly to the gods know where. I don't like this newest whim to so take the man. I fear for his mind.
He turned the page, but held off on reading it, the exposed mark on his left hand reminding him of something. Among the dusty corridors he found himself reading a strange tale much like when he first met eyris, the wonder of that single moment not lost on him after all that years. He owed much to the goddess but had yet to see her again, or even find a temple to her, though perhaps that was here way. It could be she wanted her followers spread among the world to be pillars of knowledge in their own right, though he did not presume to know the goddesses intentions. All he knew was that she marked him, and with that brought great clarity to his life, something he was thankful every day for. In a time where chaos reigned across the land, such a liberty was well received. Could it be that such a tale could be brought to knew light under the scope of the power eyris so chose to bless him with?
His palm rested now in the dead center of the book, and his fingers splayed Faraluun closed his eyes slowly and concentrated on a single spot of blackness shifting his focus from everything until his mind was completely open and his minds eye ready to observe. Willing the power, images burned quickly through his mind, scenes of flames consuming a small cottage, another portraying a man stooped over a candle writing reverently, and many many more images that he could hardly spare a glance at to remember. Fear he could sense weighing on the words, though also there was exhalation surging through him, though the two emotions seems entirely divided in the text though he could grasp little else from what had flashed through his mind. Suddenly he found his eyes opening and his breathing hard, his trembling hands holding the book before he got the presence of mind to set the book back on the table and settle back in his chair, taking a deep breath to settle his mind, and better sort out what had just happened.
Gulping hard, Faraluun took a look around to see if anyone had witnessed his little period of confusion.
