Good News LiBEARian

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Rakvald
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Posts: 269
Joined: Fri Aug 24, 2018 11:17 pm
Race: Lotharro
Profession: Rancher
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Good News LiBEARian

Sun Jul 28, 2019 6:18 pm

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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.
word count: 713
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Rakvald
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Posts: 269
Joined: Fri Aug 24, 2018 11:17 pm
Race: Lotharro
Profession: Rancher
Renown: +210
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Re: Good News LiBEARian

Fri Aug 16, 2019 7:36 am

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The enervations of a mortal body, or that of an animal, can be leeched by one skilled and advanced enough in the art of flesh sculpting.

Rakvald wondered, as the voices of his students assailed him from all sides, if he could use that leeching to shut them up. Could one steal the voice from a mortal through Graft? It was an interesting proposition to him, yet he hadn't heard or seen anything to suggest it was possible with anything less than the utmost skill. Certainly Tobol hadn't done anything like that in his knowing. Rakvald would surely never think of silencing his pigs.

These enervations consist of all the various functions that exist within the fibers of the body, the tissues, bones, glands, and everything.

He kept reading the book as he wandered the lecture hall, glancing over his 'students' as he made his way past them. Whenever he turned his eyes, it seemed they moved. For when he turned back toward them, they were facing him, twisting in their seat to keep him in their view. It was eerie, and he supposed one less strong willed might even find it unsettling.

All functions of the body may be manipulated and transplanted in this way. Even into tissue and flesh that ought not to work in such a way. Something on a base level changes within the fibers of one's being, allowing it to translocate its function to otherwise unsuitable flesh.

Rakvald mused over this last passage. "HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" He accidentally yelled his humming, then cursed quietly, "Fucking voice..."

In the next few moments, he approached tentatively his students. A less iron-willed man would've been cowed by the prospect of approaching a possibly evil, possibly possessed, desiccated corpse that could move. But Rakvald was not a less iron-willed man. He was just a iron-willed man.

Without waiting another moment, he grabbed the student by the throat, and willed the voice to leech into his own flesh. The enervations flowing through their vocal cords did indeed stifle their voice, as the enervation worked it's way through his hardened fingers, and into his hands. Thus was the voice leeched.

He cleared his throat, and tried speaking once more, "HOW DO YOU DO STUDENTS?"

Shit That didn't work.

Then, unbidden by his own will to move, the hand that had leeched the voice lifted itself up to eye level, held in a loose fist. There, he made a hand puppet, and it began to speak.

"Why did you steal my voice?"

The other hand rose up in tandem, "Do you want to speak yourself? Do you have questions?"

"Why are you always either yelling or whispering?"

"Do you think it's time for us to stop?"

"What's your face?"

Growling in anger at this development, Rakvald wrested control over his hands from these errant spirits, and moved onto the next student. He repeated the process of throttling them. Grafting their voice onto his hands. He had a plan for what to do here, and would see it done.

In the other side of the room, on top of the lectern, the stuffed bear looked on with interest as Rakvald continued leeching the voice from all of his students.

Finally, having silenced their husks, his hands spoke with the multitudinous voices of his lecture hall. He would have covered his ears, if the voices didn't speak directly through his hands.

Once he had managed to leech their voices into his hands, all of them, they all just blew like ashes into a breeze. Their smouldering husks blown to the wind that swept through that ruined lecture hall.

Rakvald looked through widened eyes at his speaking hands, and growled deep in his throat, although no sound issued forth.

Without thinking another moment, he brought his hands to his throat, and began squeezing. As he did so, he felt the vigor he'd absorbed into his hands began leeching into his vocal chords. It took several bits, but after what seemed like a break of nearly strangling the voice back into himself, he removed his hands, and then tested his voice. "I... I can talk?"

"I can talk! I CAN TALK! OOps..."

The bear behind on the lecture, jumped off of it, making a squeazy bladder noise as it hit the ground, and then bounded up toward Rakvald, beaming up at him with its button smile. He looked down on the small bear, and laughed hard.

He laughed in relief at the sudden return of his voice, if only in the dreamscape.

Next time though, he would take back what they'd stolen from him. He would have his voice back in trust, by crook or cloven hoof!

So having resolved himself, he carried the bear back over toward the lectern, and returned to the world of the waking.
word count: 814
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