14th Trial of Cylus, 718th Arc
Farmlands outside Etzos
The dark crow flew through the night, a black spot on a similarly black sky. It rode the air over the roads leading away from Etzos and made no attempt to pursue prey or the murders of other crows making their rounds as well. It stared out over the distance of the Etzori landscape with cold, green eyes. Dried blood had frozen over it’s heart, sealing the small knife wound that had killed it. Far away, a necromancer gazed through its eyes. The distance with which he could channel the Link much farther than his first attempts. Neronin’s mind drifted as he surveyed the road below through the crows eyes. He thought of nearly an arc ago when he struggled to build the link to a marrow not fifteen feet away. He had certainly grown, projecting the link across the farmlands of Etzos.
Neronin had taken to observing certain missions to ensure success. He found his magic was well suited to clandestine pursuits, though he had rarely found the need to invest in them until now. The crow swerved and searched the roadways for the rumored caravan. There was something on the road. A dark smudge against the brown trail leading across a pale, snow-covered field. Neronin felt a small thrill in his gut as he presumed success. Under the guidance of his will the tiny thrall turned and began to spiral down towards the smudge. As the crow grew closer the smudge revealed itself to be a wagon driven by two men. Four more followed on horses.
Feeling bold, Neronin willed the crow to Landon the wooden wall of the wagon. It lowered its head and turned it. The green eye looked into the contents of the wagon. Neronin saw that perhaps five or six small barrels of lamp oil were carefully covered by a thick tarp, though he recognized them. The crow took off again, flapping away before any of the mercenaries or the merchant could see what it really was. Catching the chill Cylus wind, the crow rose to circle above once again. Neronin had the information he needed. He let the Link spell slip away, though he kept control of the crow, a distant and simple thrall, a minute section of his mind. It took a moment for Neronin to recapture the present, though not as long as it used to.
He sat in his cavern. The gaunts growled and shifted against the wall. The bloated corpse in the corner held the massive worms within, almost silently. He blinked twice and began to summon his Rupture spark. Neronin found shifting between magics and even combining them was becoming easier. His necrotic spark was massive within him, but the others had begun to grow in strength since Neronin focused on them more recently. The result was that he felt each of the three distinct presences more universally in his life. They were beneath the surface, ever present but still mostly dormant. They would come easily for him and seemed to have adjusted to the shared space within his body and soul, though their competition could still be felt at random times.
The mage raised his hands now and found the chaotic ether of his Rupturing spark crackling between his fingers even as the thought formed to cast the spell. He looked into not the space between his fingers, but into the dark face of one of Mongrel’s men. He had a thin scar tugging at his right eye and the hard face of experienced violence. One of Mongrel’s favorites. He nodded to let Neronin know he was listening.
Farmlands outside Etzos
The dark crow flew through the night, a black spot on a similarly black sky. It rode the air over the roads leading away from Etzos and made no attempt to pursue prey or the murders of other crows making their rounds as well. It stared out over the distance of the Etzori landscape with cold, green eyes. Dried blood had frozen over it’s heart, sealing the small knife wound that had killed it. Far away, a necromancer gazed through its eyes. The distance with which he could channel the Link much farther than his first attempts. Neronin’s mind drifted as he surveyed the road below through the crows eyes. He thought of nearly an arc ago when he struggled to build the link to a marrow not fifteen feet away. He had certainly grown, projecting the link across the farmlands of Etzos.
Neronin had taken to observing certain missions to ensure success. He found his magic was well suited to clandestine pursuits, though he had rarely found the need to invest in them until now. The crow swerved and searched the roadways for the rumored caravan. There was something on the road. A dark smudge against the brown trail leading across a pale, snow-covered field. Neronin felt a small thrill in his gut as he presumed success. Under the guidance of his will the tiny thrall turned and began to spiral down towards the smudge. As the crow grew closer the smudge revealed itself to be a wagon driven by two men. Four more followed on horses.
Feeling bold, Neronin willed the crow to Landon the wooden wall of the wagon. It lowered its head and turned it. The green eye looked into the contents of the wagon. Neronin saw that perhaps five or six small barrels of lamp oil were carefully covered by a thick tarp, though he recognized them. The crow took off again, flapping away before any of the mercenaries or the merchant could see what it really was. Catching the chill Cylus wind, the crow rose to circle above once again. Neronin had the information he needed. He let the Link spell slip away, though he kept control of the crow, a distant and simple thrall, a minute section of his mind. It took a moment for Neronin to recapture the present, though not as long as it used to.
He sat in his cavern. The gaunts growled and shifted against the wall. The bloated corpse in the corner held the massive worms within, almost silently. He blinked twice and began to summon his Rupture spark. Neronin found shifting between magics and even combining them was becoming easier. His necrotic spark was massive within him, but the others had begun to grow in strength since Neronin focused on them more recently. The result was that he felt each of the three distinct presences more universally in his life. They were beneath the surface, ever present but still mostly dormant. They would come easily for him and seemed to have adjusted to the shared space within his body and soul, though their competition could still be felt at random times.
The mage raised his hands now and found the chaotic ether of his Rupturing spark crackling between his fingers even as the thought formed to cast the spell. He looked into not the space between his fingers, but into the dark face of one of Mongrel’s men. He had a thin scar tugging at his right eye and the hard face of experienced violence. One of Mongrel’s favorites. He nodded to let Neronin know he was listening.
