RP:Sczaan Passes the First Test

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.

The Thorne Estate, Vailkrin

Tenebrae was rambling around in her garden while waiting for Sczaan to keep their scheduled appointment. She passed the time picking dead heads from spent wolfsbane blooms, and scattering the seeds of the great, white moon-flowers that would in a later season make the manse’s grounds shimmer with reflected moonlight. The Necromancer also spared a few moments to admonish various of her monstrous servants regarding the state of her lawns, or that the topiary gorgons were looking a great deal more shrubby than they ought to. Behind her, all this while, ambled the barrow-wight she’d named ‘Tinker’ for its passing resemblance to a horse.. The creature nosed through the garden beds, its chill aura browning the edges of Tenebrae’s beloved lilies, until its mistress threatened to turn it into a birdbath, if it didn’t stop.

Sczaan walks up to the massive gates of the Thanatos Domina's abode. He stood and stared for a minute, taking a deep steadying breath, preparing himself mentally to face almost any test the woman could throw at him. "Your mistress is expecting me." he states calmly confidently to the gates, he made it this far, if the gates wouldn't let him pass there was nothing he could really do about it.

Tenebrae 's gates swung smoothly open, not a whine or creak of complaint to be heard. It seems the servants were not the only ones to get a jolly good talking-to this day.. Of course, Tenebrae really was expecting the half-elf, so was keeping an eye out for him, and waved to him now from the gorgon-patch. "Over here!" she called. Then said more quietly to Tinker, "No killing him. Alright?"

Sczaan walks through the gates, slightly surprised to find the woman standing outside, "Good day Lady Thorne." he offers with a bow. Rising smoothly the young Half breed glances around his eyes drinking in the sight of her garden.

Tenebrae smiled - and it wasn't a nasty, predatory smile, or a 'I just did something horrible to you that won't know about for a few days' smirk, but a sunny sort of expression that spoke of good moods and the promise of neatly trimmed topiary monsters. "Hello, dear," she said, and took her seat on a garden bench close-by. "I take it you're all prepared for your test, then?" The woman's companion-beast drew back its loose, rotty lips and revealed a mouthful of fangs. Perhaps Tinker was also smiling at Sczaan.. But it was doubtful.

Sczaan is slightly surprised by the woman's good mood, but thankfully the shock is hidden behind his mask. "I am milady." he offers with a nod, his gaze straying to the wight, "He's beautiful, what’s his name?"

Tenebrae beamed at the half-elf's compliment. Tinker did not. "That's Tinker," said the senior necromancer. "I found him in a barrow... But enough chit-chat, eh? I am eager to view a demonstration of your prowess, as it stands." She added, a heartbeat later, "Try not to ruin my lawn."

Sczaan inclines his head, "As you wish milady." Deciding to start out with something small the young necromancer casts his magic out feeling for the corpses of some kind of animal. There, a snake under the plants, and there a rat. Taking a deep breath the half elf begins to chant in the occult tongue of necromancy, the corrupt verses sliding from his lips smoothly. With the crescendo of his chanting he snaps his fingers and summons the zombies to him, the snake and the rat both surfacing from the grass to sit near him patiently. "That was just something small." He offers, "Shall I proceed?"

Tenebrae stared at the dark little divots taken out of the lawn she’d just warned Sczaan not to ruin. “Please, do…” She somehow made those two simple words sound a lot like, ‘your swift and painful death is imminent’. But no such demise was forthcoming for the applicant, yet. Tene’s chill, pale-green gaze settled on the carcasses – more small victims of Tinker’s aura of decay, as it happened – and was forced to purse her lips in mild approval.

Sczaan had also noticed the divots, with a wave of his hand and mental command he commands the zombie animals to go fill in the holes and smooth over the grass. "My apologies for your lawn." he offers before falling into another casting. This chant even darker and more twisted than the one before, though of course nothing compared to what the Arch-necromancer was capable of. As he chants the shadows seem to lengthen and swirl a cold breeze sweeps into the lawn, that quickly warms to equate that which would be caused by the fires of hell, "Nishal." he calls quietly, "Nishal." His voice grows in power, finally booming out, much louder than someone of his stature would seem capable, "Nishal!" At his call he swirling shadows coalesce into the phantasmal figure of an ancient, hunched human male in black robes who regards the young man with cold eyes, "You young whelp." it croaks hoarsely, "You dare summon me, your former master!" the ghosts anger was almost palpable. "I've have a greater teacher than you could ever be." Sczaan replies coldly. The ghostly gaze wanders over to the Thanatos Domina, "Thorne!" he screeches, recognizing the great necromancer, though she may have never seen him he had followed her career avidly. "Silence." comes the youths command, "As per the spell I can give you one command that is within your knowledge, Tell me the name of the woman before you." The specter struggles against the command for a minute, "Joliette Frances Xaviera Thorne, Thanatos Domina of the Necromancer’s Guild of Lithrydel." With a nod, barked word, and wave of his hand Sczaan banishes his former master back to the pits of hell and looks at the woman, "What would you like to see next?"

Tenebrae was looking a little more pleased, now. After all, the 'whelp' had just offered her monumental ego yet another reason to swell and gleam, and she even went so far as to clap her white hands avidly, "Bravo.. you. I rather like that fellow. And the nerve of summoning your former master... that's the sort of attitude I expect from my necromancers." She appeared to have completely forgotten about her lawn, though Tinker's slushy blood-eyes stared at the spots where the summoned corpses had dug the half-elf out of trouble. Tene thought quietly a moment, and said to Sczaan, "Next, I would like to see you work with the umbral tides. Shadow, black fire, black ice."

Sczaan nods and closes his eyes. Taking a deep breath the young male focuses on the one area he had the most difficulty. The chant begins to pour from his lips, slightly hesitant at first but after the first line the necromancer's confidence rises and he continues to chant the profane words with strength and assuredness. The shadows begin to ebb and flow, like water on the beach during a great storm. Going for something to show his discipline the necromancer summons the black fire the burning cold of it swirling across the surface of the lawn, pointedly just high enough to not effect the plants, it even flows up and over a few of the gorgons, yet again keep just enough distance to cause the plants no harm. A change in timbre and cadence is heard and the fire turns back to it's watery form flowing up and twisting about each other the ice begins to form and freeze, forming a statue of the barrow-wight, tinker, the finer details of the creature are of course beyond the abilities of the young mage but when seen from a distance the statue could possibly pass for the real thing. Ceasing his chanting he stares at the ice statue he had summoned, his breathing hard, though he was exhausted he would never admit it and keep going forward until Tenebrae either called it off or he passed out, whichever happened first.

Tenebrae said, "Enough." She could plainly see the young applicant had pushed himself to a new level of skill with that last display. And, having seen enough aspiring necromancers to know the consequences of doing such a thing, had come prepared with a small, steel flask filled with that foul-tasting cure for magical over-extension and the suffering in which that usually resulted. She held the flask out, "Here, drink this." If Sczaan survived the taste of it, he might avoid the pain.. Tinker was staring now at the effigy of itself, and would amble over to glare at it, while Tene studied Sczaan. "You work hard at improving yourself, don't you?" She waved her hand, "I suppose you'll do. You may enter the Guild as Novus Morior right away, I think - while I ponder to whom you'd be best apprenticed." Then added, "I admire your obvious interest in summoning.. too many these days pooh-pooh it in favour of the showier skills, but it's such an essential and fundamental art.."

Sczaan chokes down the drink, "Yes, ma'am." he says tiredly, "No one gets anywhere by not doing so." He takes a deep steadying breathas she speaks, "I thank you milady..." he trails off if I may request a small favor from you." he says, not timidly, just tired, "Will you pass on the results of my test to Magister Templi Svilfon for admittance to the Mage's Guild?" Though he asks that it's obvious that there is another question the young man wishes to ask.

Tenebrae said, "Of course.." and, of course, she sensed there was another issue dangling from the half-elf's tongue. "Was there something else you wanted?"

Sczaan takes a deep breath and straightens up, fully expecting to be either laughed at or smote where he stood for his next question, "Would you accept me as your personal apprentice, I will vow my loyalty and service until beyond the day of my death. With my aspirations there is no one else that would serve as a good teacher for me other than yourself." The half elf stands stock still, waiting to be punished or embarrassed.

Tenebrae smiled. She couldn't blame him for wanting to better himself under her expert guidance … and how absolutely darling were his brave little delusions of ever being great enough to challenge the Queen of Shadows? She almost patted him on his half-elfy head. Almost. "I do have need of a good lackey.." she sniffed, "But you must be aware that the work is hard, the pay nonexistent, and the reward hard won. I don't put up with slackers or complaints, or people questioning my motives. Is that clear?" Her cold eyes, pale and with the green tinted vaguely yellowish, the precise shade of a perfect peridot gem, narrowed upon the new Novus.

Sczaan smiled behind his mask, he had been warned of as much by a certain spirit that refused to be around the arch-necromancer until this was resolved, "Of course Milady, or should I say mistress?" he asks, his way of verifying that he had just been accepted as her personal apprentice.

Tenebrae apparently wasn't paying attention to his last question - or just didn't care. In any case, she rose to her feet and held out her hand for the return of her flask. Then retracted it... "Never mind. Keep the flask, Novus. You're going to need it." And with that, she turned and strode purposefully off into the ever-shade of the weeping hemlocks, leaving Sczaan standing there alone, a bit like an unusually animate garden gnome.

Tinker, done for the moment with leveling evil stares at the ice-image of itself, ambled over to stare at the newest Novus instead. Its awful gaze seemed to say: "Don't let the gates bite you in the ass on your way out."

Sczaan turns and walks towards the gates. Upon reaching him he shakes his head and rushes through them, barely escaping the vicious portal. Only when he is well on his way does he let his cocky and self assured attitude vanish as he slinks towards the tavern for a drink.