This old man seemed quite different. Zarik's skin was paler than even his own, almost as if it were completely bloodless, and his green eyes seemed completely empty even as his long white beard and messy hair attested to age and wisdom. The staff, an icon of sagacious knowledge and experience only did more to reinforce his status and age. Something was just missing from the man, or so it felt to Mienskil. He had little knowledge of the actual people here in Sahova, but he did recognize the clothes he were wearing, if only partially. His research into ancient magecrafting, most of which went into the pre-Valterrian period showed him pictures of various mage robes in Alahea in particular, and he recognized the garments Mashaen wore as of similar design. But he couldn't be
that old... could he?
At the Archwizard's behest, Mienskil approached the table that Mashaen was working at, stepping gingerly and careful to avoid crushing any of the small pieces laying about. He knew every part of a project was precious, and did not look forward to seeing the consequences of ruining something of the Archwizard's. On the workbench was an incomplete automaton, an impressive looking thing that looked vaguely human, though there were modifications. The living scholar was not a gadgeteer nor knew of any, so he could not dream of the planning it would take to create such a construct, but he marveled at the effort and knowledge put into it.
When the old man began, Mienskil listened with rapt attention. No matter what was said, all was information, and information was valuable. That, and elder's tended to have a bit more experience than himself. Even though he listened however, he could not make sense of half of what was being said. Pulsers? What were those? Obviously Mienskil was one - Zarik had said so - but what did that refer to? And what was short-lived supposed to mean? Mashaen looked up into the magecrafter's eyes with that dead gaze, a look which he returned fully, confident and eager.
That was when the word was dropped: living. Just what the petch was he implying? That he somehow
wasn't living? The man carried himself with ancient wisdom and yes referred to himself as old and dusty, but he was obviously quite old, and he was still quite alive and moving so it seemed. He carried himself with practiced ease and confidence, assured in his own power, having that same cold calculating demeanor that benefited a researcher during his work. He and Mienskil seemed similar in many ways, though obviously Zarik was much more able and authoritative, probably as a result of such a long leadership. Though surely it was all from his own lifetime? The continued use of language that suggested that he and Mienskil were not of the same species, even though both were so clearly human, set off even more warning bells. He talked as if he was no longer one, as if he knew the needs of those that came here, the wants and desires. From personal experience? Or from something much older? That was it, the Mienskil had to know more about this man.
During Zarik's pause, the young scholar made a brief gesture to start the consumption of his own djed, one that was almost imperceptible to anyone watching. Squeezing his eyes shut, he then thrust them wide open as if he were surprised, but really he was just shifting the magical lens over them. Being an efficient researcher meant his initiating gesture had to be small and expedient, which was how he came up with it. A familiar feeling washing over him, his eyes picking up so much more as if someone had pulled a shroud from his face. As he looked at Zarik through this new lens, he nearly staggered.
Mienskil relied heavily on his eyesight, being used to it and thus perceived auras that way. And he could see that the Archwizard's aura was truly immense and hopelessly complex. Lines of text in all languages slithered through the giant visual sphere, shooting through the aura like snakes. Yet they never frolicked, as if they had somewhere to go, somewhere to be even though they could not leave the aura, so they ended up just making roundabout circles in the huge space around Zarik. The sheer size alone meant that he could not be merely mortal, no living thing could have an aura
that massive unless they were truly ancient like some monsters. Just who was this man that he had such command over djed?
His eyes began sifting through the swirls and slivers of words, Nader-Canoch and Common and something he couldn't read but recognized like Arumenic, searching for familiar shapes. Most of his emotion lines were moving slow and were small, little lengths of twine being dragged across the floor. There was a prominent emotion amidst that certain collection, but Mienskil could not recognize it, the letters too unfamiliar and in languages that the scholar did not even know of. No emotions would help him discern what this man was or what he was thinking, so he looked for other clues.
Turning his attention to the rest of the Archwizard's aura, he saw a writhing mass where his sensations and physical feelings were archived, a few identical lines trumping all the others. These were as thick as sturdy ropes that they used on ships, the text large and clear and in familiar tongue. The actual words were meaningless, but they represented things that Mienskil had been familiar with, all too familiar. On the voyage here, the scholar once got curious as to what they were transporting and what the island needed, so he used his auristics on the cargo. They were covered in unfamiliar signs, similar to the words shooting across Zarik's aura now. Curious, Mienskil examined the cargo physically with his bare hands and own senses. The bodies reeked of death and were cold to the touch.
One of those exact same symbols were now swirling in Zarik's aura, the words fluctuating and pulsing large, trumping everything else. Cold. Mienskil had seen it many times on people during the winter, but never this big or prominent. The lines of text that meant cold were encircling the other physical sensations in that archive of the aura, keeping them trapped in a sphere of words, as if to say it was the only thing Mienskil would notice were he to touch. Such powerful aura was only rivaled by the cold of ice... or dead bodies. Did that mean that the Archwizard was, in fact, dead?
Shyke.
Then he remembered that he had been asked a question, and looked sheepishly at the ancient wizard who was staring at him expectantly, squeezing his eyes shut and keeping them there to stop the flow of djed into his irises. "I, well, I," Mienskil stammered for a bit, still recovering. "I want to learn. I want to be able to practice magecrafting and become better at it, exploring new possibilities for it and new times of abilities for the items. Also, I want to try different reagents and see what they do or what effect they have. Beyond two levels in any one area was impossible for me in Zeltiva because I didn't have the proper stabilizing reagents as well, but here maybe I can try."
He paused himself. "In short, I just want to learn all I can about the possibilities of magecrafting, and then maybe as much as I can about other magics before I die."
OOCApologies for not being here, just came back from China where I couldn't access Miz. Double apologies if I made you wait for long. 
Also sorry for the loooong post, I kind of let it get away from me. Hope it's tolerable, and let me know if you want me to cut back in the future.
