46th of Summer 518AV
That night was a night like any other. And having found himself with a little window of solitude and at peace with the world, Aer’wyn had finally cracked open the book that had been laying underneath his pillow ever since he had arrived at the Midnight Gem. Her book.
A thick tome it was. A cluster of several notebooks compiled together haphazardly by thread and enveloped in leather. It had seen many years of use, perhaps even a decade or two. Some pages were loose, others stuck together but in spite of all that this book had seen, it remained in a condition that would save it from the garbage at least. Karisa’s book, it was. Th only thing he had managed to keep hold of all these years after her death when even some memories would start to fade. As painful it was as comforting. A memory of what once was and could never be again. But a memory none the less.
His fingers traced over unlegible symbols. A few pages of them intact with the odd word written in common between paragraphs and paragraphs of code, until eyes finally hit something a little come comprehensible. Those pages were there. Secrets in common written in chicken scratch writing, perhaps a little hard to read, but legible enough for eyes that hungered for secrets. Details of the very basics of morphing lingered on those pages. Some rituals repeated, others a little vague. There were even a couple of models roughly drawn and explained for any beginner to begin to grasp a hold of. Somewhere at the back, on a spare scrap of parchment, Aer’wyn had once left a reminder to himself about how to craft the arm of an akalak out of his own deed.
That night he wrote about the strange magic that was morphing again. The relaxation of putting his mind on paper, starting with the very basics and even moving onto things that only a competent morphed could accomplish. And time he had a plenty. Suffice to say as of later he had been under the illusion that he had all the time in the world.
Hours have passed in this contemplative writing but at last his eyelids felt a little heavier, his body a little sluggish. How long he’d been at it, he wasn’t entirely sure but by the time he had ended, Leth’s white orb had rose up into the sky in a parade of twinkling stars. Before slumber took him, the Akalak shoved the book back beneath his pillow, only to forget its there in days to come.
That night was a night like any other. And having found himself with a little window of solitude and at peace with the world, Aer’wyn had finally cracked open the book that had been laying underneath his pillow ever since he had arrived at the Midnight Gem. Her book.
A thick tome it was. A cluster of several notebooks compiled together haphazardly by thread and enveloped in leather. It had seen many years of use, perhaps even a decade or two. Some pages were loose, others stuck together but in spite of all that this book had seen, it remained in a condition that would save it from the garbage at least. Karisa’s book, it was. Th only thing he had managed to keep hold of all these years after her death when even some memories would start to fade. As painful it was as comforting. A memory of what once was and could never be again. But a memory none the less.
His fingers traced over unlegible symbols. A few pages of them intact with the odd word written in common between paragraphs and paragraphs of code, until eyes finally hit something a little come comprehensible. Those pages were there. Secrets in common written in chicken scratch writing, perhaps a little hard to read, but legible enough for eyes that hungered for secrets. Details of the very basics of morphing lingered on those pages. Some rituals repeated, others a little vague. There were even a couple of models roughly drawn and explained for any beginner to begin to grasp a hold of. Somewhere at the back, on a spare scrap of parchment, Aer’wyn had once left a reminder to himself about how to craft the arm of an akalak out of his own deed.
That night he wrote about the strange magic that was morphing again. The relaxation of putting his mind on paper, starting with the very basics and even moving onto things that only a competent morphed could accomplish. And time he had a plenty. Suffice to say as of later he had been under the illusion that he had all the time in the world.
Hours have passed in this contemplative writing but at last his eyelids felt a little heavier, his body a little sluggish. How long he’d been at it, he wasn’t entirely sure but by the time he had ended, Leth’s white orb had rose up into the sky in a parade of twinkling stars. Before slumber took him, the Akalak shoved the book back beneath his pillow, only to forget its there in days to come.
