Chiane smiled briefly at the narrowed look Remioux gave Jaques, obviously in disagreement. For one without a voice, the Duskwright had a definite skill for making his feelings well known. She let the smile linger, nodding once to him, then followed the group down to the training area.
Jaques and Vaughn had done a wonderful job transforming this former dungeon filled with a variety of torture devices into a functional training area. The dark oppression greatly relieved by complete gutting of the room of everything that could be removed, leaving only the rough, stone walls and battered supports remaining. The subsequent blessings of one of the Conjurer's Guild had helped alleviate much of the remainder of the dark aura and twisted aetheric sensations she'd felt the first time she'd come down here...
She grimaced, pressing her lips together tightly. But not the memory.
She could still recall Callistus, the dark candles, the bones, the effigies and icons.... The books that whispered enticingly...
... and then the subsequent battle for Vaughn's soul...
Her hand rested briefly on the wooden support, then winced as she sense a slight, oily shift in the aether- a whiff of the corruption. She frowned, realizing she was now standing in the alcove where Callistus's occult library had been.
Chi abruptly moved away from the support and the group, drifting along the line of tables, heading toward the Lalafell archanist. She wondered if Ojune also felt the almost imperceptible ghost of the corruption at times- or if it was simply her. Being so close to so many corrupted, being stroked by the corruption itself, working around and against it...
Hmm....
Yssen had taught her many things, the least of which was there was always a give and take when dealing with aetheric energies. To destroy corruption, one must give of oneself... and accept the scar that results.
A scar, a mark... An aetheric memory, she supposed. One that could not be removed, no matter if the Elder Seedseer had personally blessed Chiane or the room herself.
She became aware that she had paused in her reverie by the hand-held weapons, each one neatly arranged on the table. The basic throwing knives; wooden daggers in various sizes to fit Lalafell to Roedgyn hands; the hora- the leather was cracking on the grip of the second largest, she noted with a frown....
She picked it up, picking at the crack and loose flap of leather, then flipped it over, studying the seam. It would be an easy fix...
She set it aside, looking over the others for signs of wear.
Jaques and Vaughn had done a wonderful job transforming this former dungeon filled with a variety of torture devices into a functional training area. The dark oppression greatly relieved by complete gutting of the room of everything that could be removed, leaving only the rough, stone walls and battered supports remaining. The subsequent blessings of one of the Conjurer's Guild had helped alleviate much of the remainder of the dark aura and twisted aetheric sensations she'd felt the first time she'd come down here...
She grimaced, pressing her lips together tightly. But not the memory.
She could still recall Callistus, the dark candles, the bones, the effigies and icons.... The books that whispered enticingly...
... and then the subsequent battle for Vaughn's soul...
Her hand rested briefly on the wooden support, then winced as she sense a slight, oily shift in the aether- a whiff of the corruption. She frowned, realizing she was now standing in the alcove where Callistus's occult library had been.
Chi abruptly moved away from the support and the group, drifting along the line of tables, heading toward the Lalafell archanist. She wondered if Ojune also felt the almost imperceptible ghost of the corruption at times- or if it was simply her. Being so close to so many corrupted, being stroked by the corruption itself, working around and against it...
Hmm....
Yssen had taught her many things, the least of which was there was always a give and take when dealing with aetheric energies. To destroy corruption, one must give of oneself... and accept the scar that results.
A scar, a mark... An aetheric memory, she supposed. One that could not be removed, no matter if the Elder Seedseer had personally blessed Chiane or the room herself.
She became aware that she had paused in her reverie by the hand-held weapons, each one neatly arranged on the table. The basic throwing knives; wooden daggers in various sizes to fit Lalafell to Roedgyn hands; the hora- the leather was cracking on the grip of the second largest, she noted with a frown....
She picked it up, picking at the crack and loose flap of leather, then flipped it over, studying the seam. It would be an easy fix...
She set it aside, looking over the others for signs of wear.
