But I'm more than just a little curious
How you're planning to go about making your amends to the dead
Vikander was not one for interruptions, but luckily for the poor sap at his door he was completely oblivious to most of them. At least for awhile.How you're planning to go about making your amends to the dead
It was only Aghavni, August, or Senna himself that could pry the mad warlock away from his work. Recently the list had increased by one in the form of the Scarab’s lucrative Red Rose, but Vikander had yet to officially add her name to the list. Perhaps because, once again, he simply couldn’t remember it. No matter.
For hours the warlock stood hunched over his worktables, muttering to himself beneath his breath as his mind ran at rampant speeds. To one side his spellbook was laying open, its yellowed pages marred with barely illegible scratchings bare to the world, and occasionally he would flip to a few pages, skim the words, and proceed to tinker with the vials that were stacked tediously upon his desk. A pile of mix-matched components sat unceremoniously next to the vials, and the warlock squinted hard. He exhaled sharply, causing the pages of his spellbook to sway and a forelock of oily black curls to be blown upwards.
“Bone marrow… Damnit. I need bone marrow.”
The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, wafting through his room like a fog. The floral scent of bayberry was as familiar to him as the magic he had used to craft the very stick itself. Charcoal base, dried and crushed bayberry leaves, add a touch of magic for protection and warding, and personal gain. One day, it would work. One day.
’Tap, tap, tap.’
Vikander ignored the meek knock upon his door, not even hearing it. He was lost in the abyss of his mind, the infinite chasms of madness swallowing him whole as he frantically grabbed a pen and wrote down what type of bone marrow he needed. Age. Sex. Species. Genetic color. There was so much to do.
’Tap.’
Excitement bristled in his chest and his heart began to race. The stallion’s dark lips parted but no words escaped, a look of madness shining bright within his icy blue stare. Close. He was close.
’Tap.’
The glass flowers from the Bellum Steppe, the queer little field of magic that had seemed to bloom overnight, remained upon his table top. One blue, one red, one yellow. The faint traces of magic he felt within their gemstone petals danced through the air, causing him to shiver. They had not wilted, their shine just as beautiful, as dangerous as they were the day that he and Aghavni had gone to the Steppe to retrieve them, and he -
’Tap.’
Vikander paused. Everything halted; his work, his progress, his magic, his breath. ’Tap.’ The concentration derailed with momentous force and everything was lost. Slowly, his muscles aching from standing stationary for so long - how long had it been? -, the Friesian turned his head to stare, unimpressed, at the door to his chamber. It was locked, as it should be, but…
’Tap.’ An eye twitched. ’Tap.’ That was not Aghavni. Nor was it August, Senna, or… Or… Whatever her name was. Martha?
Like the very spirits he could see, Vikander turned and shuffled away from his worktables, the flicker of candle light casting his shadow against the far wall. His eyes narrowed, locked upon the door and the timid, pathetic, annoying tapping. Grasping the door with his magic, he unlocked it and wrenched it open with wild and rolling frozen eyes, not even bothering to see who it was before vocalizing his displeasure.
”What do you want?” The inquiry was spat out on a low fierce growl, the stallion’s black ears pinned back to be lost amidst a mane of wild black curls. He seethed, his mouth parted and teeth bared, but he did not recognize who he saw. That didn’t exactly make this any better, his heart racing within his chest.
@Valefor - oops? xD
