thespherelogs | a tale of two necromancers

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a tale of two necromancers

who; dorian pavus (

tevinteraltus) and letha regis (

burntbridges)
what; a chance meeting in the library of all places
where; The...library...
when; Today~ish
warnings; Uh...death maybe, at least the discussion of

When subjected to so many different cultures with so many various and sundried beliefs, errant fancies were to be expected, and when something caught Dorian's attention or piqued his curiosity, he looked into it, by the Maker, and so he was, browsing the bookshelves, keen olive eyes moving over spine after spine, his frown of disappointment and annoyance only deepening as he continued to read. He pulled one title from the shelf, reading aloud the title, "'Why the Left is Right - How Liberal Politics is the Answer to all the World's Problems'," he makes a disgusted sound which is followed quickly by the sound of...a book being tossed to the ground before another book is plucked from the shelf, "'False Facts - How the Liberal Media is Undermining Our Culture' oh, for Andraste's sake, is there not one book in this Maker-forsaken excuse for a library with information?"

The thick sound of another large tome being tossed aside is heard, and if one is looking, can be seen, at least in shadow, around the corner in the 'Multiversal Politics' area.

A third book is pulled from the shelf, it's title getting a cluck of amusement from the man, "'The Death of Democracy - Why We Should all Agree to Disagree and Move the Hell On.' Heh. Quite."

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Even by the standards of her family, Letha's schooling was... unconventional. She'd broken a record for how many tutors had quit after handling her for only a few weeks. After a while her mother had lost her patience, and taken to locking Letha in her room with books until she'd read them all on her own. In all honesty, Letha would call that the seed of her love for libraries. It's no wonder that she finds herself drawn into one here, and the scope of it has her breathless.

Another thing her mother taught her, though, was to treat books with respect. The sound of books hitting the floor piques her interest and she wanders over to watch the man who's throwing them about. She hasn't got a clue what any of these titles mean... what in the world is a liberal?

"Excuse me?" She pipes up, clearing her throat softly, "If I may, um... what are you doing?"

Surrounded by hundreds of men and women coming and going past his little alcove in a borrowed library at the top of a mountain until very recently, Dorian had become accustomed to addresses and interruptions. He doesn't even look away from his scanning of the shelves when the unfamiliar voice speaks, quite clearly to him as he is the only other person in this area of the library.

"Discarding trite propaganda to make way for actual knowledge. It would seem with the advent of the printing press anyone feels inclined to share their ignorance. It's painful really."

"I think it's rather exciting. I mean, if people come and share their thoughts from all sorts of different worlds, you might read something you could never have thought of if you hadn't come here."

She picks a book at random and reads the title off, "A Modest Record of the Failings of Miziran Monarchy. You see? I can't imagine anyone having the nerve to write such a thing in my world."

"And if those thoughts are moronic and half-baked we're all the better for never hearing them."

He adds another book to the growing pile of 'trite propaganda' with a solid thud before turning and finally regarding her. "Could you also find the idea of joining a heretical organization bent on usurping the status quo for the betterment of all unimaginable?" He shakes his head, waving off whatever reply she may have offered with a flippant gesture.

"Nevermind. It's unimportant at the moment, and we've started off on the wrong food besides." He places a hand over his heart, bowing slightly at the shoulder. "Dorian of House Pavus. A pleasure, I'm sure."

Her mouth opens to speak but she didn't really have an answer, because she has no idea what he's talking about. It's actually a bit of a relief that he moves on to introductions, and when she hears his name her face lights up.

"Oh, Dorian! I've been told I should make your acquaintance." She offers him a quick but well-practiced curtsy. "Lady Letha Isidora Regis of Thornwell. A mutual friend mentioned you might be able to teach me a few spells."

"Lady Letha," he inclines his head to accept her introduction. He's not exactly familiar with a curtsy, but it seems similar enough to a bow to follow along. Dorian is a very sharp boy, after all, if he does say so himself.

And he will. Often if you let him. "Did they now, as though magic is some common trade to be taught to whoever comes barking? Who is it who sent you my way?"

"Seregil." She straightens up a bit more, but the impish grin isn't leaving her face any time soon. "And I would dare to say I'm not just anyone. I'm already a very accomplished necromancer, I simply want to expand my scope. Seeing as necromancy doesn't seem to be particularly useful here."

In his own world, Necromancy is, quite honestly, very difficult and, as such, isn't commonly practice by even accomplished mages. It was for that reason, in particular, Dorian originally turned his studies to the school. And then he'd learned he was very good at it.

He isn't so narrow-minded as to assume Necromancy is common across worlds, of course, but he does smirk confidently, bordering on arrogance.

"My dear, if you feel necromancy is useless here you are, quite simply, doing it wrong."

Now, that certainly catches her interest. She can't fathom a single use for necromancy in a world without the dead, and if possible she lights up even more at the thought of learning a new use for it.

"Well, there are no corpses to animate, and no afterlife in which to deathwalk. I can't imagine what else one might use it for."

"I don't know about this 'deathwalking' business, but as you say, pointless given the circumstances." He raises a hand and motions for her to follow, away from the shelves and into a reading area of sorts. "Now, our dear Doctor, Laurie, has a paramour. A paramour who is a spirit no less, proving, without doubt, they walk among us." He raises a hand again, this time tensed as though grasping a ball. It takes less than a second for a seething, purplish black mist to begin coalescing in his palm, contained there, as though it is the ball he's holding. "One need simply reach out for them."

He turns to the side, whipping the ball of gathered energy from his hand where it explodes on the ground, roiling as it rises into the shape...of him, though a strange simulacrum of undulating purple and black energy. It stands, patient, waiting. "There exist spirits attracted to death, you see, and it's their natural desire to experience it we use to our advantage."

Letha follows along happily, listening with rapt attention and offering a quiet "ooooh" when she sees the black mist. She's never seen anything like it - which means that necromancy is definitely different for him, and that is fascinating.

She reaches to touch it, but pauses, and glances at Dorian for approval. Just in case it's dangerous.

"A desire to experience death?" She mulls over that for a moment. "Is it the act itself they're seeking, or the afterlife?"

When Letha touches the entropic energies comprising the spirit to which he's given physical form, her fingers will immediately go numb and twitch spasmodically but will only respond to her movements once she moves away, though he does wave a hand to approve doing so. It won't do any sort of lasting damage to her.

"I've never asked. Personally, so long as they do my bidding, I'd rather not know."

She jerks her hand away, and watches it with clear apprehension until the spasms subside. Even still, when she looks back at the spirit it's with clear enthusiasm.

"So this is- a risen, without the need for a corpse. That's... incredible." It isn't exactly the same, she supposes - he is exerting his will over another spirit, instead of sectioning his own spirit into a physical object. But the end result is very similar. "Is it difficult to control? How many can you make at once?"

"A simulacrum, specifically. You see, in the kingdom of Navarra, there are specialized mages, the Mortalitasi, who are tasked with interring the remains of the dead inside the Grand Necropolis for all eternity. Simply put, it is their custom when someone well-to-do dies to affix their soul to their corpse and seal them in their tombs. It's said in older parts of the Necropolis some of them have gotten free and wander about. Tragic, really, but that is hardly the point."

He makes a motion to his purplish-black doppelganger. "The simulacrum, in contrast, is a shell of entropic energy, quite tasty to a death spirit, given my exact form, a combat skill. I would, after all much rather an opponent attack this than myself. Entropic as it is, and mine, some of the energy expended in attacking it moves back down the link and ahhh is rather like a refreshing spring. Healing, that is."

Edited 2019-04-25 00:35 (UTC)

She's doing her best to follow along with that, she really is... it's just that none of that catches her interest in the least, and it's peppered with words she doesn't know. The talk of attacks and healing, though, brings her back to the conversation.

"Ooh, does that mean I can hit it?"

She's already pulled a pair of scissors out of her pocket and is going to stab the simulacrum unless he stops her. She'd been planning to learn about them for the sake of servantry, but if she can learn a combat skill, that's even more exciting.

He does not try to stop her, and each deft slash of her improvised weapons causes a wave of purplish energy to arc from the simulacrum toward Dorian, but it makes no motion to retaliate. He'd have to give it the order to do that.

"Impressed yet?"

By the last swipe she's practically bouncing with excitement, and has to catch herself to slip her scissors back into her pocket before she drops them and hurts herself. There are practically stars in her eyes when she turns her attention back to him.

"Oh, Dorian, you simply must show me how to make one."

With a completely necessary flourish, the simulacrum dissipates as Dorian closes his fist, smirking at the girl as he arches an eyebrow slightly.

"Must I?"

"Yes!" She chirps, like a child seeing a new toy. "You can't imagine how hard it is to fix one's hair in the morning without servants, and find all the little pins and hooks in my dresses, this is a perfect solution!"

He frowns at her reaction, raising his chin slightly, appraisingly and turns in disappointment back toward the shelves.

"And a gross abuse of power. No, I don't think I'll be teaching you anything, my dear Letha. Not until you learn magic does not solve all problems. Nor should it."

She frowns in turn, shoulders slumping almost comically fast.

"What better use does magic have than lightening the work of servants? All I ever used necromancy for at home was for chores, and no one ever took issue with it there..." She frowns, "I know how to keep magic under control, if that's your concern. I've never had a risen get loose and believe me, they're quite dangerous when one loses control of them. Just a few months ago, my brother was killed by someone breaking their focus while practicing."

Despite bringing up the most painful loss she's endured, she never loses that chipper spark. It isn't that she's working through it - it's that, having been raised so close to the dead, it never fully impacted her in the first place. In fact, compared to being in a different world where she can't contact him at all, Nathaniel's death seems like a petty thing to be upset about.

"And if I followed the norms of my fellows, I would have joined a cult bent on world domination. 'Home' is no basis for a moral compass." He chuckles. "Many who dabble in magics they have no business touching die shortly after stating they're in complete control."

He shakes his head. "And your lack of remorse is telling. No. I shan't be teaching you a thing. You are free to tell Seregil I was less than helpful."

"You didn't answer my question." Her brow furrows a bit; she isn't feeling the heat of anger, it's closer to resentment. "What is the proper use for necromancy? And for that matter, if I can't use my family as a basis for morality, then what do you expect me to use?"

She seems to be having this conversation a lot lately. Of all the things that separate her from others here, she would never expect it to be the unquestioning loyalty that she worked for years to embody. It almost feels as if she's come to the place where Aristeo was meant to be.

"Necessity. The proper use of all magic is necessity." He turned from the shelves to which he'd returned, then, frowning, his eyes serious. "You have at your disposal the power to manipulate the very forces of life and death. It is not a gift bestowed upon you by your Maker that you might force His children to do your bidding on a whim."

He crossed his arms. "Your own morality, of course. If you were a wayward spirit, would you wish to be enslaved to do someone's hair?"

She can tell that he's talking about a god of some sort, but she isn't about to argue that they don't exist and as a necromancer, he should know better. It's hardly the place for it.

"I would rather braid hair than be used to kill. And I would rather be a servant to a housewife than a tyrant. Under the care of a Regis necromancer, I know my body would be cared for well and kept safe. I know they would remember my name, and keep me company when I was not in use. If I were to choose between becoming someone's risen, or spending eternity in the Netherworld alone, I would hardly have to think."

At least she's taking this somewhat more seriously now. It's hard to resist setting up walls against such thoughts as her own eventual death.

"You assume these spirits were once the living." He still didn't turn back to her. "They are not." Though he did shake his head, looking over to her questioningly. "What is this Netherworld you speak of?"

"Your necromancy is very different from mine. I've never seen anything like what you made." She moves closer to him, picking off a book idly and skimming through it as she speaks. "Perhaps the spirits you use were never people, but the spirits I contact were and still are. They live in the Netherworld - the land of the dead. Is there not something like that, where you are from?"

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a tale of two necromancers

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