23 Vhalar, 716
Sol slumped in his chair, his head propped up by a spare hand while the other held a tome upright, his eyes lazily scanning the text. "Twisted Arcana, A Guide to Ether and Emea," read like the standard text, plenty of long winded passages ranting on various exercises. Though bored, Sol gobbled up the bits and pieces with a ravenous hunger. He paused on occasion and lifted his head so that he could pen a few of the choice bits. A full ink vial sat next to a tower of books, each stacked as haphazard as the next; the stack threatened to spill at any moment, but somehow it remained upright and undisturbed. Sol lifted his pen, dabbed it in the vial, and scribbled a passage on spare parchment he kept close to his desk. His desk indeed. No one bothered much to clean it anymore. The last time Sol spent a good break chewing out the assistant whom misplaced the books. They gave him a wide berth since then.
The initiation process is perhaps still one of the largest mysteries pertaining to magic. A single Awakening will not do for a mage, as for each Discipline a new initiation must be undertaken, and the initiator may not awaken more than one such domain at a time. An interesting note, as it raises the question of what exactly is woken up within the host?
Sol paused. He frowned and glanced up from the book and took down another series of notes, his lettering slanting with the lazy strokes of the pen. His own research required no formal script or even legibility, so long as he could interpret his own ravings. He ended each line with a series of lines in some odd successions; part of a code he worked on, one to better organize his thoughts. When the ink ran dry he clicked the metal nib against the desk and made an odd clicking noise with his tongue against the inside of his mouth. Initiation, awakening. The scholar Conselhart mentioned something about a spark? Was that it? Sol turned his attention to his stack. Guides, journals, theories. He grunted. No Conselhart. Someone was at hit his pile again.
An annoyed grunt proceeded the wooden groan of the chair. The man stood and adjust his all-black garments - today he abandoned his cloak for a coat, its hemming trimmed with a pleasant, golden garnish - then stalked his way passed his desk. The wide, open expanse of the library's main floor soothed him. Despite the time at mid-day the establishment was almost empty with the majority of the population consisting of the staff. And Sol, of course. His boots thunked over to one of the larger shelves and scanned the contents. Coeal, no. Corallian? Some idiot misplaced another one. Sol rolled his eyes and withdrew the book on logistics, placing it two spaces over where it belonged. He backed tracked then. Conselhart. Perfect.
So grabbed "A Spark of Ingenuity: Science and Arcane, the Meeting of Divine Power and Mortal Knowledge" and turned about without so much as a glance in his new direction.
Sol slumped in his chair, his head propped up by a spare hand while the other held a tome upright, his eyes lazily scanning the text. "Twisted Arcana, A Guide to Ether and Emea," read like the standard text, plenty of long winded passages ranting on various exercises. Though bored, Sol gobbled up the bits and pieces with a ravenous hunger. He paused on occasion and lifted his head so that he could pen a few of the choice bits. A full ink vial sat next to a tower of books, each stacked as haphazard as the next; the stack threatened to spill at any moment, but somehow it remained upright and undisturbed. Sol lifted his pen, dabbed it in the vial, and scribbled a passage on spare parchment he kept close to his desk. His desk indeed. No one bothered much to clean it anymore. The last time Sol spent a good break chewing out the assistant whom misplaced the books. They gave him a wide berth since then.
The initiation process is perhaps still one of the largest mysteries pertaining to magic. A single Awakening will not do for a mage, as for each Discipline a new initiation must be undertaken, and the initiator may not awaken more than one such domain at a time. An interesting note, as it raises the question of what exactly is woken up within the host?
Sol paused. He frowned and glanced up from the book and took down another series of notes, his lettering slanting with the lazy strokes of the pen. His own research required no formal script or even legibility, so long as he could interpret his own ravings. He ended each line with a series of lines in some odd successions; part of a code he worked on, one to better organize his thoughts. When the ink ran dry he clicked the metal nib against the desk and made an odd clicking noise with his tongue against the inside of his mouth. Initiation, awakening. The scholar Conselhart mentioned something about a spark? Was that it? Sol turned his attention to his stack. Guides, journals, theories. He grunted. No Conselhart. Someone was at hit his pile again.
An annoyed grunt proceeded the wooden groan of the chair. The man stood and adjust his all-black garments - today he abandoned his cloak for a coat, its hemming trimmed with a pleasant, golden garnish - then stalked his way passed his desk. The wide, open expanse of the library's main floor soothed him. Despite the time at mid-day the establishment was almost empty with the majority of the population consisting of the staff. And Sol, of course. His boots thunked over to one of the larger shelves and scanned the contents. Coeal, no. Corallian? Some idiot misplaced another one. Sol rolled his eyes and withdrew the book on logistics, placing it two spaces over where it belonged. He backed tracked then. Conselhart. Perfect.
So grabbed "A Spark of Ingenuity: Science and Arcane, the Meeting of Divine Power and Mortal Knowledge" and turned about without so much as a glance in his new direction.
