13th of Ymiden 719
Back again in the dreamscape, the ruined lecture hall, where the charred remains of students waited to deliver their questions to the professor, Rakvald in this case. He had nothing to say to them, only endured their questions. The more he listened, the more their words faded into a sort of static nothing, and became as a background accompaniment to the music of the Dawn.
He turned his back on this throng of charred people, letting their questions roll off of his back, as he searched the shelves. Closing his eyes but briefly, he tried to envision that elusive bit of reality back into his dreamscape. As his eyes closed, he could feel portions of his lucidity encroaching on the rotten framework of the ruined vision of this dream. Finally, having exhausted his efforts, he opened his eyes.
There, on a shelf, he saw the bear that had hounded his steps. He'd tried to throw it into the ocean on the first time he spotted it, on the journey back from Quacia. When that failed, he woke after a dreamless sleep to the bear next to his pillow.
Oddly enough, during these episodes, good things seemed to happen around the bear. And this instance was no different. The stuffed bear seemed to be seated upon the only book that wasn't burnt or rotted out in this place. His eyes widening in surprise, Rakvald rushed to grab the bear and the book. Here, he set them on the lectern, the bear on one side and the book on the center.
He searched the pages, to find that they were in Vahanic. Thank goodness. He could barely read a lick of common, much less Xanthean, as many books appeared to be written in.
This particular book was titled, Graft: A Sorcerer's Scalpel and Needle.
Inside, he found references to all manner of things that Rakvald was as yet unfamiliar. He frowned in consternation as he tried to make sense of the various moving bits. Trying to separate the fanciful language from ideas he understood to be grounded in facts, whether by rote or practical experience. There were interesting ideas regarding the function of the body's natural healing processes, and how graft ought to take these processes, as much as possible, as a guide for how the mending was to occur. Doing this, it argued, forestalled the emergence of anomalies or corruptions in the flesh.
Rakvald furrowed his brow as he continued to read, ignoring the questions of his students, which were becoming less than a whisper now.
He pat the good news bear on the head, for its assistance in finding this interesting new book, and making what might've been a dull, dreary, and challenging dream, and turning it into a learning experience. Just what a lecture hall in a university ought to be.
The Lothar whispered the words aloud to himself, as his eyes fell over a specific passage, "This is not to say, that it be impossible to alter the flesh and enervation of the brain. There are some theoretical adaptations and mutations, at a very high level of the sorcerous melding of soul and spark, that might make it possible. However, it's our assertion and belief, that nothing short of total merging of soul and spark would be necessary, in order for this miraculous feat to come to pass."
Rakvald hummed to himself, as he wondered over that last part. And he whispered his thoughts, "What use is it to alter the brain? What would one hope to accomplish by such a feat?"
The book went into further detail, expounding on some of the potential implications. That non-organic matter could be made a part of the body, with reorganization of the brain. That the brain could connect to flesh outside itself at an advanced level of merging the soul and spark. Of course, this was all theoretical, or so the author claimed. And hence he or she might've been wrong. Still, it was fertile food for thought.
He lifted his eyes from the book for just a moment to regard the charred and burnt bodies of his students. There, they sat, their lips moving though no words left their mouths.