RP:Guild Lessons in the Dark Arts - Cryumbral Binding
This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.
Background
While Valentin researches ways of preserving flesh for a flaying his twisted guildmistress required of him, he meets one of the new Novus Morior of the guild, Sczaan
The Black Library: popular picnic spot for the necromantically inclined
Valentin was hunkered down in a dusty armchair, the table in front of him cluttered with two piles of books. The vampiric butcher would be muttering to himself as he examined one particular tome. "Blimmin' typical. It's a sad feckin' day when a bloke has t'rely on Van Zechter for somethin'. It'd be blimmin' helpful if th'bastard had swallowed his blimmin' pride an' admitted who 'e nicked his ideas from. Dead old banker." Valentin rested Van Zechter's Visceromancy on an armrest, and gave the pile of unexamined books a dour look. The burly man grabs one of them with a muttered "Alright, Karloff, let's see if y'bloody Ars Revivificum is goin' t'be a waste o'me time as well."
Sczaan wanders into the library, the half elf's robes and mask hiding his shameful shared heritage. With barely a glance around the young necromancer begins to move towards his usual table and chair, where his pile of books is always sitting, him haveing brokered a deal with the caretaker for them to remain there. That quick glance, not to mention the buthcher's grumbling, brings the realization that there is someone else present, "My apologies." he offers the vampire, "I didn't mean to intrude." he offers politely.
Valentin glances up from a particulary dry passage in Karloff's monograph "No problem guv. It's a blimmin' library, innit. Public space for them what's authorised or clever enough t'reach it. Y'new, I take it? Ain't seen such rigid adherence t'the idea of necromantic uniform since Kerezniev joined." The butcher scratched a shaggy muttonchop. "I reckon Lorkain has somethin' t'do with it. I bet, centuries back, he started th'trend just t'be a right banker. Would not blimmin' surprise me." Valentin flicked to the next page of Karloff, casting a glance over the sigils "I'm Valentin, Thanadule o'the Necromancer's guild. An' you are, guv?"
Sczaan blinks behind his mask, a bit taken aback, "I am new to the Guild." he admits, "Sczaan, Novur Morior, and apprentice to the Thanatos Domina Lady Thorne, a pleasure to meet you Thanadule." The half elf offers a bow to the man, "Lorkain did say that my wardrobe took him back, not sure what he meant by that...though now I have guess." Sczaan's gaze roams over the books the man is reading, "May I ask your area of expertise sir Thanadule?"
Valentin grunts "Y'poor bastard. I hope y'made o'sturdy stuff beneath those robes, Sczaan, because bein' her apprentice is like walkin' all willing-like into a werewolves' den wearin' nothin' but bacon." Valentin glared at Karloff's Ars Revivificum for a moment, muttering "If this bloke got any dryer in 'is writing, a desert'd be envious. Utter banker." The butcher returned his focus to Sczaan "It's jus' Valentin, guv. Tryin' t'call me by any special title will be a quick way t'earnin' a boot up th'Xalious. But y'new, so caution's probably wise. Most bankers in this line o'work lap up titles an' sycophantic fawnin', so I can't blame you." Valentin closes Karloff with a satisfying thump and adds "Well, I can instruct in most o'the basics for those what needs th'refresher or th'trainin' in such, but m'forte, as such, is shadows. The Black Tides."
Sczaan nods in understanding, Tenebrae had given him the same warning about being her appreantice, "I do apologize for that then, I show respect where respect is due." he says in refernce to the title. At Valentin's mention of his speciality his eyes light up and a smile spreadds across his face, though hidden of course, "The Black Tides? That's the area I have the most difficulty with reanimation comes fairly simply but my forte, as you put it, is summoning the spirits of the dead to answer questions or perform simple tasks. I'm convinced that's the only reason I passed my test, The Lady Thorne says no one really cares to focus on that branch of Necromancy."
Valentin nods. It seemed every Novus Morior had the same concealed enthusiasm for learning everything. Which, the Thanadule thought, was missing the blimmin' point. "Necromancy, y'have t'understand, it's a kind o'catch all term, guvnor. For a broad range o'disciplines. Reanimation, Curses, Black Tides, Carnomancy, Phobomancy an' the like. The trick is t'focus on y'strengths, but to have some understanding of all th'other bits. So myself for example: I'm th'opposite of you. Reanimation ain't something I spend a lot o'time on, for even without th'need t'sleep, there's only so many hours in a day, an' only so much information y'can take in at once. I need t'focus my efforts for research t'be of any damn use" Valentin rubs the stubble on his jawline "Th'Mistress, for all that she's a blimmin' nutter, gets that. Reason why she's as powerful in th'profession is due to havin' been around a few centuries, an' has had plenty o'hours t'take stuff in." And lose her mind, Valentin silently added "So with th'guild, she likes folks to be good at their specialties, rather than dither about. Little use havin' lots o'jacks of many trades, yet masters o'none." The butcher examined Sczaan to see if there was a flicker of understanding in the Novus Morior's eyes "Now, I can teach th'black tides, an give y'assistance there like I would any Novus Morior - but y'got t'remember: the more time y'spend away from y'specialty, the less of a specialty it becomes, y'get me?"
Sczaan nods, "I understand, I still keeping my strength my strength, however I want to be at least proficient in a little of everything. I don't want to have to struggle to keep the black flame in existence, or the black ice from wavering...not to mention if it came down to combat the black tides would be more useful than what I do. I do see your point, but I would like to at least be able to grasp the theory better, I'm not looking to be able to command it like you or Lady Thorne, just better than I di now."
Valentin nods once more "Good enough, guv. So, what d'you already know? Give me a bit o'whatever theory's been passed on down t'you. I'll fill in any blanks, an' then we can look at th'more practical side o'things"
Sczaan smiles, behind his mask, "Thank you sir." he says, "As to what I know of the Black Tides, Dark Fire and Dark Ice, also known as the "Dark Elements" are artificially created thermal magics, and an extension of Shadow Magic. They are not associated with any Natural Elements, such as those employed by Druids and Elemental Mages." He spouts verbatem what he's read in majority of necromantic tomes of his level, "The shadow magic I know almost nothing about except that shadows are great for portals, since they already lie between two places, light and dark."
Valentin scratches a shaggy muttonchop "Tha's pretty much th'gist of it. Now, umbral magic's a weird thing. Not every necromancer knows how to use it, an' not everyone who knows how to use it is a blimmin' necromancer. Some folks have a natural affinity for it." Which, Valentin remembered, was why he'd ended up at the not-so-tender mercy of his own sire many years ago. "I reckon there's a reason why necromancers seem to do so well with th'damn things. Ain't quite figured out what it is, yet, but I'm workin' on it. Had a little moment of insight a small while back. But what I can tell you is this: the language and writing passed down to the necromancers seems ideal for summoning, channeling, binding, and manipulatin' shadows. So there's ways o'usin' umbral magics even if y'aint got a talent, but are versed in th'chants an' sigils of our profession. Lots o'theories out there, o'course. There's some as say that the cantas an' sigils were created by Vakmatharas 'imself for 'is servants t'use." Valentin catches himself "Blimmin' library. One hour in 'ere, an' I start t'feckin' ramble. Right, bare basics. The black tides wax in shadow an' darkness, wane in light an' bright places. It takes a lot more effort t'perform umbral magics with th'sun overhead. Not impossible, but inefficient. Easy t'drain y'self. The three types y'mention are more formally known as the followin': the umbral, which is y'basic shadowplay; pyrumbral, which is what happens when y'mash t'gether entropic energies to create a sorcerous heat - kind o'like them folks what rub sticks t'make fire; an' lastly cryumbral, which is hard t'explain. It ain't a natural cold. Plenty o'theories about that, too. Some say the cold is drawn from Vakmatharas' realm. Others suggest th'umbral plane is naturally cold t'anything that aint shadow. One thing you'll have noticed, Novus Morior, is that it'd be a feckin' miracle if you got a hundred necromancers together, and any two of 'em agreed on anything. Next question, guvnor: Which o'the three, if y'had t'focus on one, would y'be most inclined t'learn?
Szcaan listens to the Thanadule's explanation with rapt attention, "If I had to choose I would have to go with Cryumbral." he admits, "It has the most interest to me to be perfectly honest, though sounds like the most convoluted."
Valentin nods "A'right. First'll come th'ritual array an' sigils, so's I can check t'make sure y'don't turn y'self into walkin' frostbite. Then'll come th'basic canta variants for fiddlin' with th'shadow stuff. It's th'combination o'circle an' chant that most folks tend t'bugger up - even experienced folk. Just read Anabaster's blimmin' Obituaries if y'want a roll-call of 'ow many stupid gits have gotten cocky over the centuries an' managed to kill 'emselves in creative ways. Now, on that count, how long y'been at this lark, guv?"
Sczaan listens intently, "Honestly sir, I've been apprenticed for about 15 years, but only for the past ten have I actually been casting spells." He answers honestly, "That and my master wasn't the best, he was a weak scared man."
Valentin rubs the stubble on his jawline "Well, if'n y'former teacher was scared, it just goes t'show 'e was a man o'good sense. There's all too many ways t'kill y'self by accident in this trade, guv. It's why folks tend t'specialise. It's a form o'caution an' practicality, more'n anythin' else. The more familiar y'get with an aspect o'necromancy, th'less likely you are t'catastrophic'ly bollocks it up. 'Course, folks can get complacent, which leads t'the same end as incaution." Valentin looks around the room "Now, this aint th'place for a practical demonstration. Redhale'd have m'guts for garters. Tell y'what. I've got t'finish my research, but in six hours time on th'blimmin' dot, meet me at th'guild lecture halls an' I'll get y'started"
Sczaan nods, "As you wish." With that the young necromancer bows to the Thanadule and heads out of the Library to go rest and meditate before his lessons.
Necromancy 101: the dark art of ice sculpting?
Hidden beneath the Death Cult Temple are numerous rooms and facilities known only to members of the Necromancer's guild and its students.
One such room resembles an amphitheatre with stone workbenches elevated around the central workbench belonging to whichever teacher of the Dark Arts is imparting their knowledge at the time.
Valentin || Sczaan would find Valentin at the Thanadule's preferred lecture hall. The room more resembled a laboratory, with several sorcerously reinforced stone benches set in an elevated semicircle around the teacher's own workspace. The hallways were largely empty, as was the lecture hall with the vast majority of Novus Morior and Sclerati having been escorted to Venturil to assist in the Guild's project there. Valentin himself is standing at his workspace, tossing something small and reddish up in the air, catching it as he waited. When Sczaan arrives, Valentin throws the item to him with a called out "Catch it, guv. You'll need it." The object itself would prove to be a reddish-brown crayon strongly smelling of iron.
Sczaan 's hand flicks out with the dexterity of a half elf. Catching it deftly the youth examines the object. "Iron?" he asks, "Why iron?" The younger necromancer's mind is whirring with curiousity of iron's significance to shadow magic.
Valentin grunts "Use y'nose, Novus Morior. It's blood. Them things is a cheap an' nasty way o'drawin' up a temp'ry ritual circle, innit. Helps th'entropic energies find th'conduits wi'more ease than otherwise. Good in a pinch, or for a class where y'want t'be able t'clean th'circle away with minimum fuss. Also, it pisses off Lorkain an' the Thanatos Domina when I make you kids use crayons. So added benefit there, guv." Valentin pointed to the workspace in the lowest tier, set in line with his own. "Hop over there, guv, while I prepare th'example." Valentin would chant out the basic canta of shadow binding, focusing his will on the form, dissonant sibilants writhing unnaturally past his teeth and into the air. Above Valentin would form a shadowy and exaggerated simulacra of a ritual circle, inky sigils writhing and pulsing in the air without physical form to contain them. Valentin examines the circle, and nods. "A'right. What y'see up there is a close approximation o'what y'need t'do. You'll probably note some similarity in form t'the circles o'summoning with minor undead an' so forth. What y'see there is the circle for a small, basic, golem. It's not a particularly useful circle, as it draws from y'own magical reserves. But it's damn handy as a way t'see if y'can handle the basic's o'followin' a recipe." Valentin causes a couple of sections in the shadowy circle to spin in place "Don' forget t'link the activator sigil t'both the binding and summoning subarrays, or th'canta won't do diddly squat, right? Now, get drawin', an' I'll take a look at what y'got"
Sczaan moves to the workspace obediently and waits patiently as the Thanadule casts his magic. When instructed to copy the circle he immediately drops to his knees to better steady himself and begins to draw the circle, pausing every so often to look at Valentin's example. The yound necromancer is skilled at circle drawing considering that his own speciality requires some complex circles and he spends his free time copying some of the more mundane circles in various notebooks.
Valentin snaps "Get off y'knees, y'banker. What d'ye think th'bench is for? Use it, not th'blimmin floor. Easier t'clean, for one thing." The butcher wondered, for a moment, if elves were more likely to go loopy in the process of learning necromancy. Give a bloke a large stone bench t'work with, an' he prefers scribblin' on the floor. Nutter.
Sczaan fights back a smart aleck comment, "My apologies Thanadule." WIth that he moves to the bench and continues his sketch. He moves quickly and deftly, the circle almost near perfection, some of the lines a little off, noticing these the Novus moves to correct them, his skill with circles showing through.
Valentin channels his sight through umbral occuli set in the ceiling, gauging the completion of Sczaan's efforts. "A'right, not bad. Th'trick t'Cryumbral tides is a kind o'transmutation o'the umbral energies. First y'chant th'basic summons t'bring forth the umbral essence. Kind o'like bringin' out y'clay for what's t'come. Then you shift cadence into th'cantatus o'cryumbral binding, givin' the shadow substance an' shape accordin' to your will an' imagination. It got called Black Ice, back in th'day, on account of the result feelin' cold as death an' slick as ice. We're keepin' it small today t'show th'principal without drainin' y'reserves. Have y'learned the umbral cantas from Lorkain?"
Sczaan nods, "I have sir, only some of the basics." he looks over his circle again, memoaizing it for private practice, "So basic summonings then swiitch to the binding, just to verify?" the young necromancer is a bit nervous to try to unmbral tides considering his own inadequacies with it but is more than willing to better himself.
Valentin scratches a shaggy muttonchop, and sketches out an identical circle on his own bench. "Right, lad, I'll show y'first. Pay attention t'the shift between summoning, shaping, and binding. There's a shift in cadence, an' y'need t'channel th'mana into the proper activator sigils at th'right section o'the canta. Y'sigil work is fine an' dandy, so's y'should be able t'recognise which part o'the chants match up. Now watch, an' ask any questions y'need to. Because then it's your turn, guv." Valentin, focused like a knifepoint poking someone's throat, begins the chant. The unnatural syllables of Vakmatharas' unholy language writhed over the vampiric butcher's tongue, the sibilants having the dissonance of a morass of snakes fighting. First the canta of umbral invocation: Valentin's chant activates the sigils of summoning, causes shadows to be drawn into the centre of the circle. The chant shifts cadence with a hint of recursive sound as Valentin wills the shadow into shape, guiding the darkness into a diminutive image of Tenebrae. The cadence shifts once more into a rising crescendo of discordant syllables as the Thanadule channels his mana into the cantas of cryumbral binding, embedding the shadowice servitor's basic instructions into the sorcerous tapestry of the binding, until the final culmination of the ritual is complete. Valentin jerks a thumb at the effigy of the Guildmistress, currently dancing a stilted jig "An' that, guv, is how y'create a shadow-ice golem. Now, while this one is handy for twistin' the tail of her Grand Maliciousness, it ain't a particularly effective form. Most folks make 'em all spiky an' bladed, and use 'em as a form o'backup if they know's trouble is coming. Or as a handy table on legs. They can be a bit of a drain on y'magical stamina, though." Valentin nods to Sczaan "Any questions? If so, fire away. If not, get chantin'"
Sczaan watches the display with rapt attention. As the vampire goes through the steps of the spell he can't help but to smile at the form of the golem, amused by the jig of his mentor. "I think I can give it a shot, I might not be able to get movement from it though I will try." With that the young half elf falls into his spell. The summoning goes decently, the shadows ebbing around like water on the beach. The shift in cadence follows, causing the shadow to flow up and over each other forming a crude, miniature form of the barrow wight Tinker, the mistress shouldn't be without her pet after all. The chant smooths out the statue making it more realistic, though nowhere near as flawless as the Thanadule's. Another change cause the shadows to solidify into the black ice. Deciding to give it a shot the Novus tries to animate the statue, succeeding partially he causes it to start prancing like a prize show horse...though with one of his legs still solid and immovable.
Valentin nods. No matter what he might think about th'gits, elves an' their ilk did have an eye for detail and a pair of pointy ears well tuned t'discern sound. "Good work, guv". Behind the vampire, in chiaroscuro relief upon the floor, his shadow's head splits wide with a leering grin quite different to the butcher's ever-dour countenance as shadow-Tenebrae danced on. "If y'can keep focusin' on perfectin' y'sigils an' chants, y'got half th'battle won. The rest comes down t'time, expandin' your innate reserves o'magical stamina, an' not bollocksin' it up an' turnin' y'self inside out. Which does happen sometimes. Lorkain lost one o'his like that a few months back." 'Lost', Valentin's hairy Xalious. Lorkain had a habit of giving his students incorrect instructions to see who'd paid enough attention to correct the error. A class with Lorkain was like playing jump-stone over a volcano. Valentin reckoned more necromancers had died over the years at Lorkain's classes, than by any other cause - do-gooder priestly prats included. "If y'get a chance to, have y'self a chat with Artritus Vox. He's been around a century or two, an' is a font of useful information. If you an' he can stomach each other's company that is. If y'see Tenebrae afore I do, tell th'mistress that I reckon y'sigil work is above Novus level, an' you got a good handle on the tonguetwisting bollocks we call the necromantic language. Use those exact words, or she won't believe it was me what said it." Valentin puts away his crayon and banishes shadow-Tenebrae with a very satisfying 'splatting' motion, the shadowice simulacra vanishing as the burly vampire's large hand gives the bench a light thump "Feel free t'copy down that circle f'later. Any questions, guv?"
Sczaan is slightly tired from his casting but listens to the Thanadule with the same devoted attention as earlier, "No questions sir." He responds pulling out his notebook to copy th circle in, "I thank you for your help Valentin, and will be sure to pass that along to the mistress." With that Sczaan goes to work copying the circle, if Valentin does add anything else the younger necromancer will pause in his work to listen.
Valentin waves an arm over his workbench, and shadows flood its surface. Hidden beneath jacket and shirt sleeves the sigils carved into the vampire's arms would pulse as Valentin uttered the canta of pyrumbral binding. The shadows flooding his desk seem to sharpen in definition as the benchtop momentarily becomes home to an intense heat where the shadows lay. A moment later the shadows have dissolved and all that was left of the crayon markings Valentin had made were ashes. The butcher pulled a rag out of his apron pocket and wiped off his bench "Time for me t'sod off an' get some business taken care of, or th'mistress will 'ave me guts f'garters. Remember t'clean the crayon off th'floor an' bench afore y'leave. Oh, an' if y'haven't, read some Eclestorias. His 'Proin Nisl' is a handy reference f'this kind o'circle work. Helps y'figure the links between spoken tongue-twisty bollocks an' the shifty sigil bollocks we necromancers got lumped with at th'dawn of our profession." A recent experience with Tenebrae's artifact had left Valentin uncomfortably edging towards the notion that the necromantic language, spoken and written, may well indeed have been passed down by Vakmatharas himself. He didn't like the notion much. It made him feel like a damn priest, an' he hated damn priests.
Sczaan nods, focused on his drawing trying to get it as close to perfect as possible. The youth would finish his drawing and go about scrubbing the marks with a cloth that he qould wet with some water from the waterskin hidden in his robes. No until it was perfectly spotless would the youth leave, going to hunt for a teacher in curses and the Artritus Vox that Valentin would mention, both paths lead to the library.