RP:Guild Lessons in the Dark Arts - Reanimation

Background

Since being promoted to Thanadule, Valentin had been pushed more and more into running the more mundane elements of the Necromancer's guild, and had been made (albeit against his own desires in the matter) responsible for the teaching of several Novus Morior.

Left with no choice in the matter, Valentin approaches the new chore in the methodical way he took on all tasks assigned him.

The (un)lucky students in today's class are Jeremiah Alhandry, Eliza Van Radigan, Kalthor Kerezniev, Maledict Avernus, and Cerys

Location

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.

The Dark Arts, the unwritten first lesson: "Don't trust Lorkain, he wants to creatively kill you all"

Valentin still wasn't comfortable in the necromantic equivalent of a 'lecture hall'. The room the handful of Novus Morior were gathered in more resembled a laboratory, with several sorcerously reinforced stone benches set in an elevated semicircle around the teacher's own workspace. Valentin wore his typical workaday attire, spurning the black robes traditionally expected of those Thanadules holding discourse on their varying specialties. Although the notion of setting aside his own business interests didn't sit too well with Valentin, what truly granted him a grim expression this day was what Lorkain had offered by way of malevolent 'suggestion'. He had been cornered by the horrendous old sack of carrion a couple of days past, when the lich had stated in his inscrutably sepulchral voice "Thanadule. I find myself with an excess of fodder. It will perhaps serve your interests within the guild, yes? To take them on for me. They are working on re-animation. I know your studies have been progressing... well." And then the bastard had vanished through the wall. Valentin could smell the smug on the bastard, even if it had a remarkable similarity to bonedust and mouldy cotton. Re-animation his hairy Xalious. One of the two fields he had -no- right to lecture on, but he knew how these things worked. Well, he knew the hows and whys, and he knew the ritual arrays, so in principle the butcher -could- do it. But he'd never bothered blimmin' well tryin' - after all, he killed things, didn't make 'em get back up again. That should ha'been someone else's damn job. As the various Novus Morior made their way to their respective benches and the assorted paraphernalia set upon them, Valentin scratches at a shaggy muttonchop. This was goin' t'be catastrophic, he just knew it. Deep in his bones, he knew it.

Cerys hadn't gotten much opportunity to gather her various supplies just yet, and whenever she even thought of passing by the temple, she'd had to store what things she had--including her notebook of stolen knowledge--into her own little hiding place. So that night, the elf had purchased a new, clean notebook with scribbled notes about elemental magic and made her way to the temple with her new persona adopted. She files in with the few other students, her bright eyes twitching to and fro, especially the ever curious left one. The right one centers in on the instructor for the evening, a familiar butcher and not the lich she'd heard so much about. That gets the left eye's attention in a hurry and she blinks to get them properly in sync rather than flitting here and there as she takes her seat upon one of the benches and readies a quill she'd stolen from her father--handy device that didn't need an inkwell to produce the stuff.

Before each student lies all the accoutremants this evening's lesson would require. In a distinct contrast to Lorkain, whose sadistic nature enjoyed seeing students dying from the simple mistake of coming unprepared, Valentin still had the same methodical approach he'd had in life when training butcher's apprentices. On each workbench could be found a strange red crayon with a distinctive iron hint to its odor, a dead rat, a small jug of fresh blood, and a strange shadowy sigil emblazoned on the side of the table closest to Valentin. Valentin, at the main workbench in the pit, has a dessicated dog's corpse and apparently nothing else. However in the butcher's apron pocket, being viewed subtly through the enactment of Dragichnyev's "Umbral Occuli", is the butcher's cheatsheet, just t'make sure he didn't forget the important bits. The butcher casts his gaze up at the students as they take their places. Five of them, three he didn't know. "A'right you lot. Cerys an' Jeremiah I know" Valentin points a finger at the two he names "Th'rest of you better introduce y'self, in case one of you manages to off y'self an' I have t'fill in the paperwork." There is a moment's silence before, begrudgingly, a robed and hooded figure speaks first to softly relinquish the name "Kalthor". This is followed by another robed man, whose hood is thrown back to reveal black slicked-back hair and an almost stereotypically villainous goatee on a pale and sneering face. The man declares loudly "I am Maledict Avernus! And your paltry lessons are bene..." only to be interruped by Valentin's terse and perfectly projected "Shut it, Novus. Next." Finally, a woman in midnight blue satin and lace, face hidden by a black veil, whispers hoarsely "Eliza Van Radigan". Valentin nods, making some notes in a book he retrieves from his apron pocket. "Alright. First things first. Tell me about th'ritual array Lorkain was -goin'- to teach you." Unreasonably, Valentin picks on Cerys first. "Crazyeyes there. Give me a rundown o'what you were preparin' for this lesson"

Cerys had unfortunately arrived midway through this particular course, and given her specific instructions to feign ignorance about the subject matter by the Thanatos Domina herself, well it had been a challenge to her lackluster acting skills. In the one or two sessions she'd attended, the lich saw her as ignorant, but quick on her feet--which was probably the only thing sparing her life at the moment, academic or otherwise. Lucky for her, she took meticulous mental notes and was quick about putting them to paper after the more recent sessions. "I worked on a circle involving these sigils"--she opens her notebook to an empty page and draws the symbols she meant, then holds it up for Valentin--"in order to raise a small animal."

Valentin had known, just known, that Lorkain would have picked something unbelievably complex and grossly inefficient. And given the vast resources at that crusty old lich'es disposal, Valentin had no doubt he'd found one with a high risk of fatality in the event of failure. Lorkain was, almost singlehandedly, the cause of ninety percent of Novus Morior deaths. The other ten percent was proudly claimed by applicant stupidity or arrogant ignorance. "I see, Novus. Zamaluke's Arcana of Living Torment. The ol' lich bastard has a sense o'humour, I see." Valentin, however, was a bit more enlightened to his Guildmistress' need for competent necromancers able t'follow clear instructions. Therefore, the Thanadule had decided to go with something a bit easier to work with, albeit a bit more draining vis-a-vis the magical energies these Novus Morior would be able to handle. Now, for all the butcher disdained the writings of Artemesius for his simplistic solutions to necromanctic basics, it was that simplicity which would be needed here in Valentin's opinion. "Alright. Set that blimmin' outdated tosh aside for now. I'll let Lorkain kill you lot with that on 'is own time. Now, get ready t'memorise or copy down the circle an' sigils about t'appear on y'benches." At this point, the outspoken Maledict calls out "And just what is wrong with Zamaluke's Arcana, Butcher." There was a distinctive sneer placed on the enunciation of Valentin's chosen profession. Before Valentin responds, however, each student would see on their workbench a shadowy replica of a ritual circle and its composite sigils, activator arrays, and linking subarcana. The woman in lace, Eliza, and the almost insultingly non-descript Jeremiah start making notes, while the hooded Kalthor seems to peer intently from the shadow of his garb. Meanwhile, Valentin addresses the goateed Maledict "A'right guv. Zamaluke's array is full o'subtle inconsistencies." Valentin waves his hand in the air, accompanied by the faint hiss of necromantic verses clashing in the air around him, and a swarm of shadows appear in the air above him. "If we look at th'activator array..." The shadows form sigils in the air "We can see the subtle linkages which will serve to recursively drain more energy out o'the caster than any spell o'that level has any right to." The sigils shift around "An' here, in the sequence o'sigils meant t'gather an' condense the dark forces, there is a subtle but deliberate leakage caused by these two here" A pair of shadowy sigils spin in the air. "An' that ain't all of it - but that's enough t'bloody well make it clear that th'spell has a strong risk o'drainin' a mere Novus Morior dry o'their magic before they can get the whole thing done." Which was a classic Lorkain hallmark choice of ritual if Valentin had ever seen one. "How are th'rest of you goin'?" At this point, Maledict realises that he has neglected to pay attention to the ritual circle Valentin had emblazoned in shadow on his bench. Eliza merely nods, Kalthor whispers "Memorised, Thanadule" and Jeremiah states "Done" before muttering "My father has a much better way of doing it." Valentin looks at Cerys "Got more t'say than this closemouthed lot?"

Cerys did not comment the entire time as Maledict crossed words with their current instructor, though her ears perk ever so little under her pale hair and her left eye flicks between the two. The right was much better trained, and despite that the odd double vision between the eyes makes her head throb most of the day, it is one that is as familiar as a hitch in one's step. The new circle and sigils are written down in her book with focused attention, personal observations scribbled in the margins about individual clusters and what they could mean individually. Her pen was moving with the signature speed and precision of her heritage, though on occasion she has to slow a fraction so as to not accidentally add an unwanted flare to one of the symbols. On the page where she'd sketched the symbols for Zamaluke's Arcana, well she is sure to add this new instructor's thoughts alongside them about the out-datedness and the extra drain on one's energy, a good thing to note at her level. Her left eye takes in the side avenue while the right manages to focus on the lesson at hand. On occasion, having that double vision did make multitasking much easier. "So use of the array presently on our benches instead is meant to better conserve our energy at this level," she restates for the sake of confirmation. "If I may ask, Thanadule, does this particular circle have any added side effects apart from the usual drain that we should be aware of before using it?"

Reanimation 101, Part I: drawing the Ritual Array

Valentin grunts with what nobody living would recognise as his understated approval "Good question, Novus. The trick t'survivin' this kind o'prenticeship is proper critical thinkin'." Valentin waves his hand, and the shadows above his head now show the sigils which were emblazoned on their desks. "This is Artemesius' 'Circle of Minor Revivification', found in his 'Treatyfe on Sorcerouf Engraving'. Now, he's not th'best rolemodel for later down the road - his ritual arrays, as you can see" Valentin causes some of the sigil formation's subarcane structures to pulse "Are simplistic, an' don't allow for any versatility at all. What you will get from this ritual is y'basic undead shambler - but on th'bright side you won't find y'self drained out an' Lorkain snackin' on your leftover bits" Legend among the Novitiate had it that Lorkain fed on the fleeing souls of those who died in his classes, although there was none who would confirm whether that was true or not. "It's also a lot blimmin' harder t'get wrong, an' is well within' the reach o'those who generally make it far enough t'become Novus Morior. Not t'mention that it's a good way t'get a basic feel for th'entropic energies you'll be workin' with throughout y'career." Valentin cast his gaze around his 'students'. At least he wasn't dealing with the kind of yokels and twits he had put up with as a mere butcher back in his living days. "A'right, if y'haven't already taken th'ritual down, bad luck. Time t'get crackin'" The sigil array in the air vanishes, and Valentin commands "Use the crayons to write th'ritual circle on th'bench. I've saved you th'hassle of havin' to write in blood proper. Do NOT blimmin' touch those jugs. If anythin' goes wrong, you damn well splash the circle with th'contents, y'get me?" Another precaution unthinkable to Lorkain, who enjoyed it when things went wrong. Last week, word had gone out that one student who had advanced to studies in carnology had made the error of seeking Lorkain's advice, and ended up turning himself inside out and creating a most ghastly mess. "Right, let me know when' y'got the circle written." Valentin, in the meanwhile, folds his arms and waits.

Eliza Van Radigan worked silently, her hand moving in an almost exaggerated slowness which belied the perfect formation of the sigils which appeared beneath her crayon. Hooded Kalthor Kerezniev was likewise silent, although his movements were swift, graceful, almost like the work of an artist in the throes of inspiration, and he was done in a third of the time it took the veiled Eliza. Jeremiah Alhandry appeared sullen, but seemed to be confident in his movements as his crayon scraped across the stone. It was Maledict Avernus, however, who was the fly in the soup. Declaring loudly "I'll not waste my time with Artemesius' pissant works. If Zamaluke is good enough for Lorkain, it is good enough for me! I will show you how a true necromancer does things, you hack amateur!" The last statement was directed at Valentin, who merely raised his eyebrows and responded "As y'like, guv." Through some air-aspected cantrip, Maledict made his black robes flutter ominously as he marked down Zamaluke's ritual as dramatically as a sequence of small squiggly and asymmetrical sigils would allow. At least the circle parts let him show some real flare to what was an unappreciative audience of possibly none as the other students were focused on their tasks, and Valentin appeared supremely disinterested in the goatee'd prat's theatrics.

Cerys, inwardly, fancies herself too stubborn to die just yet, even with her newest instructor's terrible rein on her studies, not until she could march up to a certain someone and... She lets that thought trail off into another. Her ears were high enough where the points could be seen through her hair, and she lets her left eye wander as her right focuses on jotting the butcher's commentary about the simpler circle, along with its name, creator, and source book. She'd have to look into finding a library later to see if she could find and read that book to get better background. Her pale brows do go up and her mouth almost quirks into a grin once he barks the order to begin the practical portion of the lesson. She takes the waxy stick in one hand and props her notebook open with the other. Here is where reining in her left eye was going to get difficult. It wanted to twitch to the work benches of the other students, see how they were doing in comparison, see how she what mistakes they made that she could learn from, but she had judged that her quickness was an asset she couldn't sacrifice, so, though the eye flicks against its holder's mental hold over its movement so it could gaze at and learn the circle she'd written in her notes. The right eye focuses astutely on the workbench and that crayon, making sure the image on the paper and the one on the stone bench match up. That was a task that tested her reflexes as she draws the basic shape of the circle with practiced ease, but then slows to get the few sigil clumps just, precisely right. She was one of the latter students to finish her circle, but based on the design, she didn't have to spill the jug all over it just yet, either. When her left eye was freed of its cruel restraint, she would let it observe the work of her peers while the right goes to the Thanadule, awaiting further instruction.

Cerys 's left eye was, however, an eager audience for the outspoken Maledict's antics, distracted only by the hooded Kalthor since the others were on task. It made a game of anticipating whether the theatrical Novus was making a bold decision, or a foolhardy mistake in the eyes of their instructor.

Reanimation 101, Part II: chanting the Cantorum Mortuum

Valentin waits until every crayon is silent - which ends up being a race between Maledict and Eliza for last place. Maledict taking longer due to his theatrics and more complex ritual, and Eliza who moved so slowly for reasons unknown. When Eliza's crayon is carefully set down on the bench, Valentin nods. "Right. Tha's the easy part taken care of. Now, I know you've all been workin' on the cantorum mortuum with Lorkain, an' that much at least th'laws o'entropy force him t'teach you properly. So, I will show you first, t'refresh you on the verses which work wi'the Circle o'Minor Revivification." Valentin swiftly forms the sigil array on the bench in front of him with a crayon fetched from his pocket, giving each student apart from Maledict a subtle chance to double-check the details appearing on his or her bench. Jeremiah makes one minor alteration on his circle, his father training him well in the truth that pride comes before the terminal fall when learning Necromancy. Valentin, once finished, scratches his stubbled jawline "Alright. Get y'listenin' ears on, Novus Morior, because I'm only doin' this once. Now remember to add in the activator phonics at the appropriate verses to link chant an' circle to your will as th'summoners o'the dark energies, or th'damn thing won't do a thing." Valentin places his left hand on the desiccated dog, and his right above the ritual circle. Once in position, the Thanadule begins one of the most basic Cantorum Mortuum, the incantations which through Vakmatharas' blessing brought movement to dead flesh and bone. Whilst there were numerous theories as to how the necromantic canta came about, the most prevailing belief was that it was gifted to worshippers of Vakmatharas in antiquity beyond the memory of even the oldest lich. Harsh and dissonant verses cascaded like a nest of snakes from Valentin's throat, slithering sibillantly from his tongue. The utterance of even a basic canta gave the air a tainted feel to it, which would make those still somewhat human want to have a good long shower later. Rising and falling, the verses of the chant radiate around the amphitheatre as Valentin directs his will and power into the ritual array. A chill arises from the central podium, and the dog twitches as the Thanadule reaches the crescendo of the incantation. The sigils pulse darkly, and the dog seems to shimmer as if through a heatwave as it haltingly rises to its feet, empty sockets staring out at the collected Novus Morior. Valentin finishes the ritual with a significant sense of relief. He hadn't bollocksed it up, which was as good as spitting in Lorkain's face, as far as he was concerned. "Right, you lot. Your turn. Do the same, but with them rats. I got you rats, because it's even less effort than a mutt." Valentin absentmindedly petted the undead dog on the counter, which wagged its tail once before the rotting appendage fell off.

Cerys went so far as to smooth the majority of her hair behind her pointed ears, revealing them fully to the gathered few of the ampitheater, though without caring since she didn't want anything obstructing her ability to pick out every syllable of the chant to activate the circle on the bench before her. Both her eyes focus in on every movement of Valentin's mouth of their own choice as her hand flips over a new page in the book and begins writing every caught syllable of the chant in the phonemic alphabet of her native tongue. Going into this, the elf knew that learning a new casting language would be her biggest hurdle. This was, perhaps, the only skill she didn't need to dumb down or fake for Lorkain when she came for the lessons. Her system of charting out the sounds of the chants meant for slow-going studies, but it was all she had until she had appropriately learned enough of their original language to understand what they were saying so as to make her own fluency easier. The effect of the words, despite the way her still-warm skin crawls with every syllable, had quite the opposite on her mind as it soaked in the power behind them. That feeling was one of the many reasons she had originally chosen to delve into her own father's arts. Granted, unlike Jeramiah, hers wasn't around to admonish her studies. That thought only motivates her into further focus as the chant comes to a close and the dog rises. Now their turn... Cerys' right eye goes to her little script where she'd placed it beside the circle on the table, the characters far more flowing than her Common-letters, as her hands go into proper position. Her pronunciation is slower thant he others, much like Eliza's circle. Blocking out background noises from those ears of hers was easier if they were softer noises, but in a small gathering of people chanting at different paces, one of them doing an entirely different ritual altogether? She finds she must mutter the syllables on her page, putting hope that she faitfully follows her mental rendition. Her actual result's annunciation is weaker since the archaic words blend more together along her tongue.What power comes from her mouth is not so much a den of snakes, as a den of ambling cockroaches, but nonetheless she feels the familiar drain on her magic as she sees the imitation chant through to its final result with the rat. The result? Well, the rat does rise...in a manner, but it is a one-sided motion since the body's entire left side remains unmoving. One might find the little creature dragging itself into circles humorous if its caster's teeth weren't grinding behind her lips.

There was a curious disharmony between four of the five students as they chanted the Cantorum Mortuum, as each working on Artemesius simple ritual carefully followed their instructions to the letter. Eliza's hoarse vocalisations mixed with the soft baritone of Kalthor, Jeremiah's tenor and the hesitant utterings of Cerys, all desecrated by the unholy essence of the dissonant language they chanted. On each bench, sigils pulsed and rats clambered to undead paws beneath the Novus Moriors' hands to varying levels of success. Maledict was a source of irritation to them all as he practised certain verses of his ritual, but didn't start his own cantorum properly at that stage, electing instead to wait towards the end, folding his arms with a rather unbecoming sneer. It was a textbook sneer: perfect curvature of the upper lip, a hint of teeth showing, head tilted just enough to look down his nose, and the nose wrinkled just enough to convey the right amount of disdain. It was, quite evidently, something he had spent a lot of time practising in a mirror. When they were all finished, but before Valentin could speak, Maledict proclaimed to a cantrip-driven billowing of his luxurious black robe "Now, fools, watch and learn from a proper Necromancer!" As Maledict speaks a small umbral occulum opens within the darkness of the ceiling, created by Valentin so as to examine the lecture room from above. Valentin stands still, allowing his mind to receive the sensory imput without confusion. Maledict begins a slightly different Cantorum Mortuum, the one Lorkain had assigned to Zamaluke's ritual, and if Valentin wasn't focused on examining the construction of Maledict's circle through an external sensory organ, he'd have had cause to grab the man by the shoulders and shake him like a ragdoll. Lorkain had given the Novus Morior a compatible cantorum, yes, but again one far more complex than the ritual really required, given the desired outcome. Valentin had to admit, though, that Maledict had at least got the ritual constructed correctly, and was handling the cantorum adequately. However, and it was a -big- however, the sod hadn't listened to a word Valentin had told him earlier. The sigils of Zamaluke's complex 'Arcana of Living Torment' pulse darkly for Maledict, and he laughs triumphantly as he waits for his rat to stir "See, you petty dabblers in hedgecraft! This is the result of true power! The Thanadule says it cannot be done, yet here it is!" Valentin merely waits, and Maledicts expression of smug satisfaction starts to lose a hint of its arrogance. However, the Novus was not backing down, even as his naturally pallid complexion grew paler "Naturally, the ritual takes slightly longer to take effect, but the results are worth it!" Valentin subtly called upon his own talents, and the air around him rustled with the whisper of necromantic verses, and the other students might notice the sigil on the front of Maledict's bench pulsing as well. "Let me know when you're ready t'listen t'reason, guv." Valentin comments to Maledict, then says to the rest of them "Good work, mostly. Cerys, y'need t'be more forceful wi'the cantorum. Y'aint shyly askin' the forces of darkness out t'the midsummer dance, innit. Y'got t'be in command o'yerself, an' in command of every damn syllable you let past y'lips. If you'd tried that wi'Zamaluke's circle, well... Jus' look at Maledict there." Maledict, in a commendable effort of bravado, was forcing himself upright by clutching onto the stone bench. His flesh was turning a nasty, corpsish shade of purpled blue, as the ritual circle drew more from the man than he had within him. Certainly, his rat was far more active now than all the others' combined, but the cost was there to see. Valentin scratched a shaggy muttonchop, and decided to end the spectacle. With a barked sequence of harsh syllables, he activated the sigils on front of Maledict's bench. A shadowy tendril reached out of the sigils, up an over the edge of the bench, and splashed blood over the ritual circle. The mixing of sympathetic energies contained within the jug of blood and the crayons' construction catastrophically deforms the ritual circle, disrupting the flow of energies. Maledict screams horrifically, clutching his hands to his skull for one brief moment of intense pain before unconsciousness claims him. "Luckily, Cerys, as I said, it's very hard t'get Artemesius' wrong - at least wi'this partic'lar ritual array." Valentin casts an irritated look at Maledict's bench "Any blimmin' questions?"

Cerys' right eye refuses to even dignify Maledict's ritual with the attention the "true necromancer" called to himself--that eye never did care for condescension, and had always been quite the suckup on its original body. Her left eye pays proper attention, however, despite its motives being less than academic. The elf, herself, balances the two views with their strange perspectives with her own, taking in the showy complexity her left showed her, with the arrogant reaction of the right. She also takes note of the strain at the end of the display with which her fellow Novus holds himself up. That was certainly a humbling sight, as if in that position, herself she would be hacking up at least a pint of her own blood before the real visceral reaction began. Speaking of which, holds back that cough by bringing her fits to her mouth and pushes through the familiar dull throbbing of her temples, despite the fact neither reaction was as severe as usual when she used her magic. Both eyes center in on the butcher when her ears perk at her own name coming from the man's lips, and mention quite the same thought she'd had regarding a different scenario. She bows her head with a, "Yes, Thanadule," in sober reaction. When he asks for questions, she raises her hand in true school-girl fashion and speaks up. "Where would you suggest one would go for supplimentary study of the language of these cantorum mortuum, so as to perform them with a more solid foundation? And for the problem of one's energy being drained too much," she begins, reining her left eye in so it didn't wander to Maledict's unconcous body, "how would you reccomend building one's endurance in addition to consistent practice?"

Valentin nods to himself slowly. He was gettin' asked that last question a lot of late. "The only place t'go for supplementary lessons are t'other Necromancers who already know it. It's like anythin' - the more y'practise, the faster y'learn. Lorkain does a damn good job of it. It's the one thing he teaches proper-like, out o'respect for th'source, I 'spose. If y'believe the language came straight from th'death god Vakmatharas 'imself, that is. No real way o'knowin', an' lots o'theories abound. Anyway, anybody ranked Thanadule an' higher can teach you these things. Just convince 'em t'take the time." Valentin scratched a shaggy muttonchop "Regardin' y'magical stamina, as I calls it, well..." Valentin pauses "It's like anythin' t'do wi'stamina of any kind. You practice y'necromancy until y'head starts t'hurt - that's when y'know you're on th'verge o'drainin' yourself an' gettin' the emperor of all magical migraines. So y'rest up until y'head stops hurtin', then start again. Ain't a strongman in th'world who got out o'bed an' started deadlifting quarry stones, y'get me? They started small, worked their way up." Valentin then addressess all of the students "If y'ever overdo it, come t'me an' I got a horrible cure for the symptoms. Jury's out as t'whether the cure is worse than th'symptoms. Maledict there, he's goin' to be forcefed some before the bastard wakes up screamin' loud enough t'wake th'dead." It really was hard to tell, with Valentin's taciturn features, whether the pun was intended or not. "Now, Jeremiah - good work on' fixin' your circle afore y'sploded y'rat. Eliza, nice work on th'sigils. Picture blimmin' perfect. Kalthor, y'chantin' was th'best o'the lot." Valentin waved his hand. "Alright, lesson's over. Sod off an' work on practicin' the sigils an' individual sections o'the Cantorum Mortuum." For the Novus Morior present, it was a little hard to tell whether or not that was better than Lorkain's habitual and acerbic "Those who survived are now free to leave."

Cerys was so used to having a lack of resources and, indeed, other necromancers, she belatedly realizes that probably was the answer she should have figured out for herself. Her pale cheeks do not become stained pink, however as she bows her head again in gratitude for the answers. Her left eye travels to the other students as part of her ponders asking to practice together, perhaps Kalthor, since chanting was her apparent weakness. Was that sort of practice even appropriate with how solitary her father tended to be, though? The thought lingers until the magic words "Lesson's over" and "Sod off" are uttered, then she recalls she actually does still have errands to run, namely finishing up harvesting some mandrake and figuring out how exactly to get fresh Gorgan's blood without turning as stone as those work benches. She is sure to clean her work-space, as much as she is able, before striding from the temple with another bow of her head in thanks to the instructor, should he catch it that is.