Ymiden 25, Arc 710
Almost three decades had passed since the Mortalborn had last visited the Academy of Viden that was renowned throughout Idalos, and almost three centuries had passed since he had begun his research. He had been both a teacher and a student at one point, but this time he was simply masquerading as a scholar who had travelled all the way from Ne’haer because he needed help with a scientific problem that he had come across and, perhaps, to eventually receive his diploma.
For the past couple of months he had in vain tried to create a potion that would increase a patient’s chance of survival by raising their blood pressure as well stimulating their cardiovascular system. He had experimented with various plants that he knew to have hypertensive properties, such as rosemary and hyssop, as well as some substances that were derived from animals, but found them to be lacking. He needed something different, something much more powerful and faster acting.
There was a second reason for his visit as well, although he kept that reason to himself for few would understand why he would mourn at the grave of a mage that had died two hundred and fifty arcs before.
The city had changed little since he had last been there, and the Atheneum still looked exactly the same, and thus it only took him very little time to find the books he was looking for, several thick, leather bound volumes that dealt with the principles of chemistry and alchemy. He pulled one of them out of the shelf very carefully for he did not want to damage the ancient paper and leafed through it, frowning only very lightly as he did so.
It was, as he had half expected and half feared, mostly written in the Ancient Language that he was not particularly familiar with. In the long run that would only be a small hindrance though. There were dictionaries and books on grammar that would help him make sense of the text that he needed. One didn’t need to be able to speak a language or even know how to pronounce those foreign words in order to be able to translate them.
With that thought in mind he went to another section of the library, past a sculpture of Ziell that seemed to be looking at him accusingly or perhaps simply watching him. Several bits later he finally took a seat at an empty table and placed a stack of books in front of him before he took of his fine dark coat and draped it across the back of his chair. It would take a while until he was finished, and he didn’t want to end up drenched in sweat.
Over the course of the next break he found himself growing increasingly frustrated. The dictionaries that he had found were inadequate for his purpose, small and often lacking the scientific vocabulary that he required. He understood that the Eidisi did not want to share their language with just anybody, but how could such a proud people produce such bad dictionaries?
He paused and rubbed his forehead as he could feel the beginnings of a headache before he sat up completely straight and picked his pen up again. He had decided that he would make a list of all the problematic words. Perhaps he would be able to find out what they meant if he translated the rest of the text first. He had never been a man that gave up easily.
Almost three decades had passed since the Mortalborn had last visited the Academy of Viden that was renowned throughout Idalos, and almost three centuries had passed since he had begun his research. He had been both a teacher and a student at one point, but this time he was simply masquerading as a scholar who had travelled all the way from Ne’haer because he needed help with a scientific problem that he had come across and, perhaps, to eventually receive his diploma.
For the past couple of months he had in vain tried to create a potion that would increase a patient’s chance of survival by raising their blood pressure as well stimulating their cardiovascular system. He had experimented with various plants that he knew to have hypertensive properties, such as rosemary and hyssop, as well as some substances that were derived from animals, but found them to be lacking. He needed something different, something much more powerful and faster acting.
There was a second reason for his visit as well, although he kept that reason to himself for few would understand why he would mourn at the grave of a mage that had died two hundred and fifty arcs before.
The city had changed little since he had last been there, and the Atheneum still looked exactly the same, and thus it only took him very little time to find the books he was looking for, several thick, leather bound volumes that dealt with the principles of chemistry and alchemy. He pulled one of them out of the shelf very carefully for he did not want to damage the ancient paper and leafed through it, frowning only very lightly as he did so.
It was, as he had half expected and half feared, mostly written in the Ancient Language that he was not particularly familiar with. In the long run that would only be a small hindrance though. There were dictionaries and books on grammar that would help him make sense of the text that he needed. One didn’t need to be able to speak a language or even know how to pronounce those foreign words in order to be able to translate them.
With that thought in mind he went to another section of the library, past a sculpture of Ziell that seemed to be looking at him accusingly or perhaps simply watching him. Several bits later he finally took a seat at an empty table and placed a stack of books in front of him before he took of his fine dark coat and draped it across the back of his chair. It would take a while until he was finished, and he didn’t want to end up drenched in sweat.
Over the course of the next break he found himself growing increasingly frustrated. The dictionaries that he had found were inadequate for his purpose, small and often lacking the scientific vocabulary that he required. He understood that the Eidisi did not want to share their language with just anybody, but how could such a proud people produce such bad dictionaries?
He paused and rubbed his forehead as he could feel the beginnings of a headache before he sat up completely straight and picked his pen up again. He had decided that he would make a list of all the problematic words. Perhaps he would be able to find out what they meant if he translated the rest of the text first. He had never been a man that gave up easily.
