Stronghold of education and learning, this fortress is in one of the coldest areas of Idalos and home to many knowledge seekers in a variety of disciplines. However, unknown to most, below the city are those who suffer for the sake of science. While all are welcome, not everyone will be treated as they expect.
For most of his life, the son of Ziell had been suspicious of magic and everything that it entailed. Even shortly before his initiation, he had considered the spark to be a dangerous parasite, a parasite that he would never be able to study properly if he didn’t let someone infect him with it. He had been wrong; not as far as mages were concerned – if anything, he thought less of them now that he knew what it was like to have magic - but in regard to the spark itself.
It was dangerous, and it had already begun to reshape his body and soul in subtle and not so subtle ways, but at the same time it had undeniable potential. He felt as if he had been blind and deaf all those centuries, and magic had opened his eyes. For the first time, he could see, an entire world whose existence he had been unaware of so far. The snow that he could see outside his window was not just snow anymore, and the stone walls that surrounded him were not just stone anymore. There were so many possibilities now.
Even the candle that stood on his desk where he had sat for past two and a half breaks, working on the proposal for his thesis, was more than just a candle now. For a moment, he looked at it. He looked at the flickering red and orange flame. He leaned closer to it and channeled a small amount of ether into it, to feel it in a way that had been impossible before, to grasp its very essence that went beyond things such as shape or color – or the slight smell of melting wax. He wanted to study its warmth, thoroughly.
After a while, just as he had begun to focus on his research again – he planned on submitting his proposal the following trial - there was a knock on the door. He turned his head, furrowing his brow fractionally – it seemed like such a strange sound now, after the nearly meditative act of studying the flame – before he straightened himself and exclaimed, “Enter!”
A moment later, Elias, one of his mortal servants, a native Etzori with brown hair and brown eyes that was dressed in livery, stepped into his study. “Master”, he greeted him in a calm and polite tone and bowed. “The Naerikk is here. She told me to let you know that she brought your new sword. She is waiting for you in the salon.”
“Thank you, Elias”, the Mortalborn replied and inclined his head before he extinguished the candle. “Please let her know that I’ll be with her in a bit or two. I just need to finish this paragraph here.”
Last edited by Doran on Sun Jan 05, 2020 6:15 am, edited 2 times in total. word count: 461
The woman that sat in one of the comfortable armchairs in front of the fireplace with her legs crossed, was tall, taller than most human women, with raven black hair, bright blue eyes and alabaster skin that was covered with a multitude of tattoos. She was dressed in fine clothes of silk and velvet. They covered more of her body than unusually, a concession to the ever-present chill. On the floor in front of her was a large wooden box.
“Namira”, the Mortalborn spoke in a calm tone as he walked up to her and took a seat opposite of his old acquaintance. The Naerikk and he had first met in Ne’haer where he had worked as a doctor, shortly after he had been blessed by Syroa, quite by chance. Namira was a scholar, a linguist and a historian who was especially passionate about magical artifacts.
They had formed something almost resembling a friendship or at least an alliance over their shared interests.
“Professor”, Namira greeted him, almost purring. For the briefest of moments, a smile flickered across her face. “Or shall I call you my lord? I’m never quite sure which form of adress is appropriate when dealing with you. You seem to have acquired quite the collection of titles.”
“Professor or doctor is fine”, he replied somewhat dryly. “My deeds on the battlefield and the titles that resulted from them don’t matter as much here. Elias said that you have the sword?” he asked a moment later, raising an eyebrow fractionally.
“Wine, by the way?” he asked and gestured towards the bottle that stood on the table between the armchairs – he was not as averse to alcoholic beverages as he had been once.
“Only a little”, she replied. “I have more work to do to-trial, and I don’t think that my client would appreciate my being drunk. I have the sword, by the way. Finding a sufficiently skilled smith was a bit more of a challenge than I thought that it would be.”
Last edited by Doran on Sun Jan 05, 2020 5:57 am, edited 2 times in total. word count: 341
“Hjalmar, the man who made it, gave it the nickname Emberlight. You are free to change the name, of course”, she remarked and took a sip from her wine before she grasped the box and opened it, revealing a sleek longsword with a black hilt. The blade appeared to be quite sharp and had a slightly smoldering appearance due to the special alloy it was made of – part conventional steel and part embersteel.
The Mortalborn took the sword from her and looked it over. It was heavy, heavier than a sword that was made of plain steel would be – one of the downsides of that particular alloy – and it didn’t seem to have any obvious flaws, but then again, he had not expected Namira to bring him a weapon that had flaws. He turned it around in order to take a look at the hilt, narrowing his eyes as he did so, inspecting the narrow chamber that was inside of it.
“Hjalmar said that the chamber should hold enough potion to last for two bits. After that, it has to be refilled”, Namira explained, having noticed the look on his face. “More would not have been feasible as a larger chamber would have affected the balancing of the sword negatively. There’s a trigger on the hilt as well so that you can release the potion when you want to”, she added and looked at him expectantly.
“It is perfect”, he remarked and put the sword back into the box. He would try it out later on, when she was gone, he decided. For now, he took his own glass of wine and drank from it.
“How have you been, by the way?” Namira wanted to know once they had finished their drinks. “It’s been a while since we had time to sit down and talk. I see that you have acquired a new … addition.”
She emphasized the last word.
She gestured towards the markings on his hands, his most recent mutation, an inevitable consequence of his growing proficiency in his chosen magic – and the most noticeable one so far.
“Transmutation”, he replied. She raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything. He saw no reason to lie about what had happened and what he had become, at least not to her. He did not regret the choice that he had made; in his opinion, it had been his only option. “I decided to get initiated a few trials ago. What about you though? Have you heard anything from our old acquaintances in Melrath and Ne’haer?” he wanted to know.
Namira travelled more frequently than he did.
“Melrath is the same xenophobic, anti-immortal hellhole that it has always been, but everybody seems to be doing just fine regardless; as for Ne’haer”, she said and shrugged her shoulders before she paused for a moment, the look on her face darkening noticeably. “There are food shortages. The old pharmacist died. It wasn’t due to starvation though. According to his widow, he suffered a stroke. It was quick and painless. Supposedly, he simply dropped dead.”
The Mortalborn nodded, his face as good as expressionless. When he had lived in Ne’haer, a few arcs prior, he had briefly owned an apartment above a pharmacy. The owner of the pharmacy had been quite a knowledgeable man, and they had sometimes worked together.
He was not too sad about his passing – he had already seen a lot of people come and go over the course of the centuries and gotten more or less used to it as a consequence – but the news made him slightly thoughtful, nevertheless. Beyond that, he was grateful - grateful that he would never grow old and die, that he would never have to suffer such a fate.
He would live forever.
“And the doctors at the hospital? Do you know anything about them?” he inquired after a moment, his tone of voice slightly softer and listened to Namira’s reply.
~~~
They talked and reminisced about old times until shortly before noon, until it was time for the Naerikk to leave again – she told him that her client expected her to arrive at the twelfth bell.
Once she was gone, the Mortalborn took the box with the sword and carried it into his study. He would practice with it this evening, once he had finished writing his proposal – and see what kind of potions would work best with it. He already had a few in mind …
The hubris in Doran's tone is interesting to read. You do a very good job with illustrating very specific parts of his behavior and psyche.
The flow is fine, and there's no issue in grammar or spelling. You handled dialog well. There's really nothing to complain about, so good job!
Enjoy your PSF-approved reward!
Doran
Rewards
Knowledges:
Transmutation: Quality: The warmth of a flame
Etiquette x5 Loot:
+1 Signature Weapon viewtopic.php?f=368&t=20883 Renown: EXP:
+10
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Player #2
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Knowledges: Wealth: Renown: EXP:
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