ezra_pyreborn (
ezra_pyreborn) wrote in
all_is_truth2015-02-13 05:02 pm
Entry tags:
There is this new thing happening...
Who: Ezra, Anyone
When: Arrival
What: An undead arcanist gets a library card.
Ezra L. Pyreborn, historian, linguist, and arcanist, architect of peace in his native Lordaeron, speaker to Titans and dragons, was lost. This wasn't the first time for such a thing. Wandering the world of Azeroth, crossing and re-crossing the line between death and life, negotiating between the competing factions of the Alliance and the Horde, had led him far afield. He was confident in his ability to navigate unknowns. But this time was different.
The interview with the Bronze Dragonflight was the last thing he remembered. They had opened a portal across time and space, and told him that his next destination lay beyond. Trusting them - for what else is there to do against an entire flight of dragons? - he stepped through.
He'd come out in a library. That much was clear. There were books, stacked and shelved to the lofty ceilings of a grandly furnished old building, and more books than he'd seen in one place in his life. Reading was clearly the business of whoever managed this establishment. His unnaturally glowing eyes found the darkness not at all troubling, though he found only a few candles, and no lanterns at all. Were there living patrons? If so, did they come only during the day?
Was the portal still there, closed and quiescent? It was not. Damn those dragons. What are they up to?
There was a reason he was here, surely. There was meaning in all this vast conglomeration of knowledge. There was no rush to be anywhere - dragon magic could cross time as well as space. And so Ezra Pyreborn, undead, zombie slave of the Scourge turned crusader of the Forsaken, loyal follower of Sylvanas Windrunner, tireless servant of peace, did what he had lacked the opportunity to do for a very long time. He sat down, and he began to read.
When: Arrival
What: An undead arcanist gets a library card.
Ezra L. Pyreborn, historian, linguist, and arcanist, architect of peace in his native Lordaeron, speaker to Titans and dragons, was lost. This wasn't the first time for such a thing. Wandering the world of Azeroth, crossing and re-crossing the line between death and life, negotiating between the competing factions of the Alliance and the Horde, had led him far afield. He was confident in his ability to navigate unknowns. But this time was different.
The interview with the Bronze Dragonflight was the last thing he remembered. They had opened a portal across time and space, and told him that his next destination lay beyond. Trusting them - for what else is there to do against an entire flight of dragons? - he stepped through.
He'd come out in a library. That much was clear. There were books, stacked and shelved to the lofty ceilings of a grandly furnished old building, and more books than he'd seen in one place in his life. Reading was clearly the business of whoever managed this establishment. His unnaturally glowing eyes found the darkness not at all troubling, though he found only a few candles, and no lanterns at all. Were there living patrons? If so, did they come only during the day?
Was the portal still there, closed and quiescent? It was not. Damn those dragons. What are they up to?
There was a reason he was here, surely. There was meaning in all this vast conglomeration of knowledge. There was no rush to be anywhere - dragon magic could cross time as well as space. And so Ezra Pyreborn, undead, zombie slave of the Scourge turned crusader of the Forsaken, loyal follower of Sylvanas Windrunner, tireless servant of peace, did what he had lacked the opportunity to do for a very long time. He sat down, and he began to read.

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"A power able to mock the Bronze Dragonflight would be potent indeed, yess. But grant ssuch a thing the power and will to ssummon, but not to sspeak its wishess openly and insstead watch its guessts flounder in darknesss.. My lady Khemrysss, you have far more to fear than one wretched Forssaken if that tale is true. For what you desscribe is not a being of good ssense and reason, but merely a potent child, and we be itss playthings."
He set the book down with exaggerated gentleness on the table and gestured around him with a bandaged hand. "Far more comforting to think there iss some mysteriouss purpose given to me by the dragonss, yes?"
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"My care is that I may aid and that I not be returned to my own world, beyond such I will strive to make a home and hold what peace about me I may."
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"You say 'that I not be returned to my own world'. I very much wissh to return to mine. There is a war to prossecute, one on which ressts the survival of civilization and culture and freedom. I have friendss and allies who will need my sservices. So then what of you, if I may inquire further?" He rested against the table behind him, clasping his wrapped hands together.
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One could hope anyway. That was her comforting illusion.
"My sorrows for you, lord, to be away from such a place of need. As for my own world, well and so it is a simple tale. I am fair unlike those I was raised among and in time I was hunted, I ran, far and long," and indeed the signs of depredation were upon her yet if one knew how to look. She held little to no weight beyond the necessary, hands and face too thin by far even yet. "In doing so I fell between in a place others had learned to travel and I was taken to a new world. Small, so small, I could run around the whole in less than a day, but safe despite such. There I learned of doctors and earned my way as such. I had...just purchased a home with my finding sib, and then was plucked away once more. Now I am here."
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"Perhapss there are otherss we meet here who will tell a ssimilar tale, yes. It would be a ssad jest to have nothing but a healer attending a dead man, eh?" The laugh came again, but it is less ugly if no less inhuman. Perhaps he was capable of genuine amusement, not merely sardonic wit.
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"And mayhap. Two I have known in passing have also stumbled here but we did not speak after their arrival. I...have not stepped forth from the hospital until this day." For many reasons truth told. "And pity indeed. Should it prove that we are mostly and ever alone I am certain we shall endure and mayhap create a reading circle between us. Such would pass the time without the possible mishap of my ability and your body disagreeing with one another!"
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In its place stood a humanoid figure, as before. Bandaged, as before, and clad in the black hat and coat as before. But beneath and between the bandages was living flesh. Pale and hairless to be sure, but something akin to living flesh.
Ezra peeled away the bandages, revealing a human face. He smiled, showing white teeth and healthy gums. His eyes, fully restored, gazed steadily outward.
"It seems the dragons' gifts are still with me." He probed at his flesh with experimental fingers. "I felt a curious sensation, like a whirlpool below my soul. My arcane reserves are being drawn on by something about this place. Like.. a place of power, but in reverse. I.. still feel it. Curious."
He looked up, finding Khemrys with his living eyes. "This is me before my death. But.. I don't remember that life. I had another name. A wife, and a child. It is no longer who I am. But I will wear this mask if it will be safer, or easier."
The aura of death was gone. Whatever had been done, it was no mere illusion.
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A gracious act, perhaps, but a startling one, and she was only grateful she had managed not to fright entirely into fur! "...so..." ah, that wasn't working. She licked her lips and peeled her tongue free from the roof of her mouth to try again, "...so I have felt. It is not great, and in the hospital it seems to work as the source of light? I feel the pull, gentle and small, and the wealth of lights upon a floor lives upon my arrival." She'd had ample time to observe the thrifty nature of the hospital at least?
"Easier by far, yes, thank you for such kindness."
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He walked in a slow circle around the table, rotating his shoulders to work out the kinks, rubbing his hands, cracking his knuckles. "It is curious indeed what is happening to us. But there will be an answer."
And then he stood tall and smiled, a real human smile rather than the ghastly maw of the undead shape he wore moments ago. "Very well! There is this new thing happening. Someone wants me to be part of it."
He rested fingers on the leather book, still resting on the table. "So if we are to be here, it amuses me to be the caretaker of this place of learning until someone more suitable displaces me. And perhaps if I do not dance to our host's tune, I will feel his strings tighten and learn from whence they come. Nothing uncovers a hidden agenda like defiance."
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The voice from speakers above clicked on, forestalling anything else as it spoke, "Welcome head librarian!"
Well then.
"It seems we both find ourselves in employ," she chuckled softly.
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He rolled his eyes and shook his head, returning his attention to his more comprehensible guest. "My apologies. I have grown accustomed to that demonstration, perhaps too much so. But it has been a very useful tool, this becoming-flesh-again."
Returning to the table, he took the book and walked to a nearby shelf to return it. "There is much to learn here. Does my undead state matter? Does proximity matter? Magical potential? And so forth. So many experiments.."
He glanced back. "Your introduction made me assume you were similarly elected 'doctor'. But are you instead head greeter here?"
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...
Had the exploding addled his brains?! "Healer and Stillmistress cum doctor," she repeated softly. "The position was offered upon my arrival, I assume as I am qualified for such, and I did agree." But what was a head greeter? Would it be like a seneschal in a greater house?
Ah, but..."You are a fair strange individual."
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"Though I am free of the Lich King's whispers in this place, it reminds me of that time when I was the slave of the Scourge." He studied the high ceilings of the library, eyes flickering about to spot signs of movement. "To dream someone else's dream, to watch your body move beyond your control, to enact horrors upon... well."
"You understand, I hope, why I have no love for this mystery voice or its dark and hungry city."
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"But to those with a place and a purpose, yes, I might imagine. I cannot offer either to you, but I may come by and offer tea as I may? Or stew if you should need to eat at times."
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Ezra smiled again at a passing thought. "Tea would be nice. And, if you are willing and it would not pain you to do so, tell me stories of the world you lost."
"I am an anomaly even among my fellows. They hate the living, but regret the loss of their lives. I have no such reference points. Life, in all its variations, interests me."
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Ah, but that..."for most my life it was a quite a gentle existence, not a tale to stir the imagination. Lore I may give as you wish and time allows us, but of my life and living such there is little I would think to offer a newly appointed head librarian."
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Ezra curled a hand into a fist, leaning forward intently. "I knew only that I had a wife and child. I wanted them to be proud of my actions. Such a simple thing, yes? But from that tiny ember, a sacred fire spread across two continents. The living think too little of trivialities. The dead know there is nothing more important."
He leaned back, mollified a little. "Anything of life, no matter how small, is of interest to me."
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"I will share what I may," she promised at last. "But being one accustomed to quiet living there are many things I may not think to share."
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"Green leaves at the base of the plant, a long thin stem, white petals forming a conical shape. Plucked with a rapid motion. One digs fingers into the soil, twisting it about to loosen the roots, and then--" The wizard demonstrated with his hand, ending with a rapid jerking motion.
"It alchemically combines with earthroot to create potions or elixirs of healing. The so-called troll's blood elixir is made in this way. There are seventeen steps to refine the essence of life and earth within both herbs, the basic 'enek terebaro' series all novice alchemists learn."
Ezra grinned. "A simple plant, allowed to grow anywhere, and it has saved countless lives. Its usefulness comes from its ubiquity and plainness. That is one example of what I mean by the value of trivialities."
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What she knew of alchemy, well..."A dear friend of mine is called The Flame Alchemist. He is quite skilled with the creation of such, and his method is fair different from what I would work in a stillroom."
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"Your word 'stillwork' is equally foreign to my experience. But the process sounds familiar. When I say alchemy, I mean.. " He thought for a moment. "Think of language. Words are just sounds I make, but they stir the ineffable essence of their meaning in your mind as you hear them. The essence of life lies deep in Peacebloom, and all other plants, and its particular texture may be extracted mystically. The plant is the word; the essence of life is the meaning. A potion or elixir is the reduction of an altered essence back into a more basic form, but with more potent properties."
"It is as if I took the essence of 'irritation' and distilled and refined it until only 'rage' or 'wrath' were sufficient to describe the essence. Or 'relaxation' to 'tranquility'. A more potent, concentrated form of the basic ingredients."
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Well and so, the Kolder had been incredibly alien, and that was the closest she knew of to what this man was. She did not wonder that they had managed as great a harm as they had if they had felt as wrong as his previous form did! Even Dalesfolk, thick and stubborn as they might be, would have felt their hackles rise!
"Stillwork, to work within a stillroom distilling and combining," she listed easily. "Many a lady leaves it at such, oils and soaps and simples for their homes. I work in all manner, most common in medicinals and aids as others are not skilled in such. Whereas the term alchemy, as I know it, is to shift energy from one state to another in some manner, the maths of such never quite connected well but then I needs not such a tool. I was content in the fact my friend understood his alchemy well and was a kind teacher."
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"Which brings me to the use of translation magic. In my world, the spells of translation and communication are an adjunct to a mundane education. For a linguist, though, they are as much a tool as a hammer is to a carpenter, or a bow to an archer. Creatures without their own magic, like goblins, use artifice in place of the arcane, while magically strong beings like night elves have little use for more than the most basic artificial tools."
"The weakness of spells is that they may be disrupted. Not only this. A deep understanding of a language allows one to anticipate the moods and mind-set of its speakers. For example, Dwarven has seven different ways to refer to oneself, and a similar quantity to address someone else. One may infer that they have a stratified society and social classes, which they do. One misses such distinctions when all you hear is Gutterspeak's two forms, the impolite 'you' or the rude 'you'."
"But for me, and for now, the magic is a survival tool. I must know what people in this place are saying, in some way, or calamity may result. In time I hope to learn all of your native tongues for myself."
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