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[Xanmyral]

[And last time he played that off to hilarious/deadly effect.]

[Tomcost]

Sigmund continuead the conversation:

-Interesting. What kind of magic do you do? It wasn't of the soul enslaving kind that necromancers do, right?

[To continue the conversation]

-So, there are different kinds of magic. I would like to become a mage, if I get the chance to do so. What kind of magic would you recomend? I want something that has many uses, something flexible. In its figurative meaning, of course.

[Harry Baldman]

On the top floor of the Artiste's home...

Niklas keeps up the absolutely magical interview.

"So how would I make a focus?"

The golden-robed man shrugs.

"Willpower and mental focus, same as you do magic. It's really more like opening a connection with the object with your mind, kind of like... well, it's a bit difficult to explain. But if you just try to impose your will on an object, it's unlikely to do you much good. So most people that create foci use chants, mantras, do specific rituals - these are more... psychologically significant than anything. Chants are, like, these specific word combinations that you repeat a few times and then they wire your brain a certain way for a while. Helpful to gear yourself for mental tasks, you know. There are learning chants, focus chants, war chants, all kinds of chants. There's books full of 'em, and they've got instructions on rituals as well. Some mages don't have the patience for that, though."

"So what do they do?"

"Drugs. Great, heaping mountains of drugs. Not the relatively safe sort, either. This may be the reason why many of them are crazy. Chants only got popular about a century ago."

About 8 feet away, Sigmund is having a similar, if a bit less drug-related conversation.

"Interesting. What kind of magic do you do? It wasn't of the soul enslaving kind that necromancers do, right?"

"Oh, no. I do what the University of Magic calls metamorphosis, but less silly people call transmutation. It's essentially shaping and transmutation of matter. I can turn lead into gold, turn people into apes and vice versa, and even make happy smiling faces on bricks that feel endless happiness with the primitive sorta-brains they have. Pretty nice, all in all. And no souls are harmed in the process!"

"So, there are different kinds of magic. I would like to become a mage, if I get the chance to do so. What kind of magic would you recommend? I want something that has many uses, something flexible. In its figurative meaning, of course."

"Well, any discipline of magic is flexible - ya simply gotta know how to use it. A little imagination goes a long way. The most flexible discipline of magic is probably illusion - ya can literally make anything and do anything with it if ya have sufficient skill, but none of it's real. There's transmutation, which is pretty sweet. Energy manipulation, if you know how to use it. Life magic can help ya do all sorts of things with anything even vaguely living or fleshy. Divination can let you know anything you need, and knowledge is power. I can keep listing, but really it's about what you want to do and how imaginative you can be with it. And then there's less traditional or more specific disciplines, like wind magic, darkness magic, light magic, hammer magic. Those are less flexible, but it's easier to get object foci for 'em, which increases versatility."

As the unsuspecting mortals converse, Kevin observes. His body is like a coiled spring waiting for release. His mind is sharp and wit-filled. His entire being is like a long tube with explosives at one end, ready to explode and propel its payload over the ignorant populace.

Today, that tube is loaded with hilarity. Or maybe not. The question is, do these people feel lucky enough to guess which it is?


At the temple of Narcillicus...

Seeing that silent prostration isn't working, Scott repeats his request once more with feeling.

"Allow ME to MOLD MY BODY and the PESTILENCE THEREIN into a MAGICAL FOCUS and you'll have ANYTHING you can desire from me and the land about!"

Hopefully the emphasis will do it. After repeating this sentence for a few minutes, Scott hears the breezes stop once again. A male voice suddenly appears in Scott's head.

~Oh, hey, sorry about the wait. Busy day. So, what is it you want? Magical focus body, right? Well, sorry, can't help you with that, really. Ungodlike to go granting easy favors. Not to mention that pestilence isn't really our thing. Inspiration and beauty are the words of the day, you know. Sorry again. Anything else you'd settle for?~

Well, at least Narcillicus is a bit friendlier than Rysinia.


Outside the home of the Artiste...

Mark, hoping to rid himself of this damnable condition, momentarily becomes an offensive noisemaker, trying to attract the Artiste's attention.

However, this isn't entirely necessary, as the Artiste seems to have already noticed him a few moments ago.

"There you are, Mark! I was wondering how you'd escaped your confinement."

He looks carefully at the skeleton-tree.

"Say, something's different about you."

[Tomcost]

Sigmund thought for a moment, then made a little, but important question:

-Can magic go wrong?

[After that]

Maybe I should focus in a kind of magic which can't harm me, or don't make me explode if I'm not able to control it. One related to cold, that could be enough. You did mention some kind of magic related to energy, right?

EDIT: misplaced sentence.

[Xanmyral]

[...Dammit! Knew I forgot something.]

Morton sighs, seeing no lemons or limes. And his hands burn now, oh what bother. He contemplated on the fact that his body is dead yet he can still feel with it, and chalks that up to a good thing than a bad rather, life would be so much duller if one couldn't sense it. Moving to wash his hands with water in the kitchen, once that is finished he will go about giving everyone their tea. They've waited long enough after all, and its a terrible thing to be denied tea.

[Xantalos]

Niklas contemplates this information for a minute or two. Then, stepping back a bit, he grasps his cleaver with both hands and tries to make his cleaver a focus for cleaver magic. With sheer willpower.
If he has to put in a chant, he shouts Pre-Dinner Snack Badly Translated Swedish Tillagning hacka aktivera!

[Innsmothe]

"Can you turn my sheet back into my husband or make me more humanish in appearance? I would really appreciate either."

If the answer isn't favourable he will go over to Pacitarius' altar and repeat his pevious mantra with some added venom.

[Put on hold by the gods. Jesus, at least they don't have a computer answer system. And doh, been praying to the wrong god, meant Pacitarius. Will teach me for not paying attention.]

[Harry Baldman]

On the top floor of the Artiste's home...

Sigmund asks a perfectly reasonable question of Erin.

"Can magic go wrong?"

Erin stares at him with a grave expression for a few moments, then breaks into laughter.

"Hahahah! Can magic go wrong, y'ask? Let me tell ya one thing - of all the things that can go wrong in the world, magic is one of the most dangerous. And also one of the most failure-prone. That's why ya usually have to study intently for several years before an instructor permits ya to use it outside of a safety chamber. And even then many mages die in said safety chambers. Magic is crazy dangerous, man, but such is the way of powerful and fun things. And once you've got the principles down and the practice done with, you're a god amongst people. That's the way of magic."

"Maybe I should focus in a kind of magic which can't harm me, or don't make me explode if I'm not able to control it. One related to cold, that could be enough. You did mention some kind of magic related to energy, right?"

"Now yer being silly. Any magic will freaking end ya if ya aren't careful with it. Power brings danger. And danger is great! But yeah, you could try energy manipulation, but that usually manipulates heat - there's no such thing as cold. There's only the absence of heat. Though I suppose that you could get some kind of cold-based focus."

As the vampire finds out all these delicious answers, Niklas is otherwise occupied. Occupied with the extreme science of focus creation! Or, more precisely, a half-assed attempt at making a magical artifact of great power out of thin air.

After grunting and making lots of noises, and even invoking some holy words in his own made-up language, Niklas is sad to announce that his cleaver remains steadfastly non-magical. If anything, magic seems to have been sucked out of it by his shouting at it. You shouldn't shout at your kitchen implements. They have feelings too.

However, this does not matter, as Morton suddenly emerges from the dark kitchen, giving everyone tea with his generous, asymmetrically damp hands! The mages all sip the delightful concoction, praising Morton for his not-inconsiderable teacrafting skills.

"Nothing like a spot of tea to get the morning moving along!"

"Agreed. This brew can only be described as optimal."

"Took the words right out of my mouth! If I was an emotionless, suspiciously metallic and construct-like human being. Tea's still great, though."

"I am not "suspiciously metallic". What could have given you that idea?"

"Let's not ruin the moment, people, just enjoy the tea."

And they do, quietly sipping at one of the closer things to ambrosia any of them have tasted. The only thing upsetting the peaceful balance of the moment is Kevin.

[Kevin comedy roll: 3+1+1]

He steps out of the darkness, then unleashes the power of his unbeatable comedy routine, which sort of resembles a mime routine, except performed around Niklas. Nobody is quite sure why, but it looks a lot funnier this way. Maybe because Niklas is incredibly naked. The routine works out fine - everybody (except Niklas, who just stares at his cleaver intently and shouts strange words, though it could be argued that this improved the whole thing) enjoys it, but it is not gut-bustingly hilarious enough to cause hot tea to come out of anyone's nose.

All in all, not bad.


In the temple of Narcillicus...

Scott, realizing that Narcillicus probably wasn't the best choice for what he currently wants, still tries to milk the divine being for a favor or two.

"Can you turn my sheet back into my husband or make me more human-ish in appearance? I would really appreciate either."

~No to the first bit, as that's more Velusius' forte, and I suppose I could dispense some wisdom on the second bit - you're already human-looking enough. Not to mention that you smell pretty normal, even if there's a hint of horse entrails about you. Put on a nice hat, get some decent clothes, take a bath and you'll be set. And make sure to bathe regularly. Maybe even use perfume if you want to. But, most of all, be confident. Inner beauty's what counts, buddy. Anyway, our time's up. See you later!~

Hm. Not quite the divine intervention Scott was hoping for. Oh well. Maybe Pacitarius will be nicer. Scott scoots over to the altar of the Child of Nature, beginning to pray venomously.

"Allow ME to MOLD MY BODY and the PESSSSSTILENCE THEREIN into a MAGICAL FOCUSSSSSS and you'll have ANYTHING you can dessssire from me and the land about!"

That's certainly venomous, he supposes. At least it's better than rubbing his virulence all over the altar, he guesses. Pacitarius might take offense to that. Then again, kid doesn't seem to be paying attention to him right now, so it's still up in the air, Scott might say.

[Tomcost]

Sigmund, a little discouraged about the news about magic, kept the conversation going on a little more:

-Well, if it manipulates heat, it could just take it away, and then there would be cold. It's probably safer for an undead to manipulate something that can't hurt your body. Being frozen to death isn't either something very nice, but it's better that being burnt to ashes. Well, the most difficult part of this is going to find a cold-related focus. Anyway, thank you very much for the infromation! Enjoy your tea!

Sigmund then heads to see what the Artiste is doing.

[Xanmyral]

Morton watched Kevin's routine with amusement. "Good to see him in good cheer." He comments mostly to himself as he enjoys a spot of tea himself. "I have enough for seconds if anyone wishes." Morton announced to the gathered mages and... Whatever Artiste was. While giving out the tea, he overheard several of the others talking about magic. He briefly considered if he might wish to pursue such talents, but shrugs at the ideas. Its not something he's sure he wants to do, or really even attempt. Never the less, he moves over to talk to Erin. "Erin, you mentioned before that we're heading to Horizon Island, why exactly are we? There something there that Artiste wishes that he can't get here? I must guess so, for all the bother it seems to be to get there."

[Innsmothe]

Suddenly feeling very foolish, and a bit insecure about his selfishness. He will stand, walk over to the altar of velusisus and pray modestly for his husband back.
"I offer anything you wish, for nothing can eclipse the love of my husband, dispite my recent rationality and instability, I would gladly sacrifice my own life energy for on last happy glimpse at him."

[Tomcost]

Sigmund listens to the conversation between Erin and Morton before going to see what is the Artiste doing.

[killerhellhound]

show the artist that I'm clean of mushrooms and ask can he remove his last order so I can look at the new house

[Xantalos]

Hmm. Maybe if I anoint it in enough blood it'll work.

Niklas turns to the helpful mage again.

Question: would a telepathic stone go crazy if it was given a rubber dragon body?

[Harry Baldman]

On the top floor of the Artiste's home...

Sigmund is disheartened by the dangers of magic, but clearly not discouraged enough to give in!

"Well, if it manipulates heat, it could just take it away, and then there would be cold. It's probably safer for an undead to manipulate something that can't hurt your body. Being frozen to death isn't either something very nice, but it's better that being burnt to ashes. Well, the most difficult part of this is going to find a cold-related focus. Anyway, thank you very much for the information! Enjoy your tea!"

"Hey, ya could think about it this way - being frozen will kill ya faster than being set on fire. Though if ya get heated up several thousand times, it's probably gonna kill ya just as quick. And I'm glad to help ya."

Sigmund nods and starts to leave, only to hear Morton strike up a conversation with Erin. Man, she sure is popular.

"Erin, you mentioned before that we're heading to Horizon Island, why exactly are we? There something there that Artiste wishes that he can't get here? I must guess so, for all the bother it seems to be to get there."

"I think he wants to get to the City o' Dreams, or at least that's the only reason I can think of why someone would wanna sail over the Sea o' Death when there's not a lotta money involved. Ya can actually see the portal to the Realm o' Dreams from the island on the horizon at sunset - that's why they call it Horizon Isle. Pretty unfriendly place, I hear, and lotsa people have tried to live there. These people are mostly dead now, presumably. At least nobody's returned from there. And diviners couldn't find any sign of 'em when they scanned the island. Pretty weird."

Sigmund, having listened intently, goes downstairs to check on the Artiste. He appears to be currently busy trying to decipher what Mark is trying to tell him. The skeleton points at his body impatiently, looking at his master with certain expectations. The Artiste appears to be considering the meaning of this.

"Hm, I get the feeling he is trying to... hm."

He scratches his head for a moment, then turns to Sigmund.

"Ah, Sigmund with the dramatic last name! What's new with you?"

Meanwhile, back upstairs, Niklas considers if anointment with blood would help matters any, then asks the helpful necromancer a question that's been bothering him.

"Question: would a telepathic stone go crazy if it was given a rubber dragon body?"

The man adopts a thoughtful expression as he sips his tea.

"I dunno. Haven't really dealt with telepathic stones in my lifetime. I mean, we've bound souls to stones, but they've never talked back, so I wouldn't know much about what they'd be thinking or if they even could think. Probably not. Probably."


In a temple of Narcillicus...

Scott feels very foolish all of a sudden. Maybe he should try a different god. One that does magic, for instance. He takes a few steps to the small, faintly glowing bone shrine of Velusius and kneels down modestly.

"I offer anything you wish, for nothing can eclipse the love of my husband, despite my recent rationality and instability, I would gladly sacrifice my own life energy for one last happy glimpse at him."

The prayer is obviously not ignored, as the room suddenly feels as though the walls have eyes. Hundreds of staring, judging eyes. The floor, on the other hand, feels like it's made of fingers that suddenly wrap around Scott and feel his form.

~Oh, would you look at that. Love! I enjoy love. I bet you enjoy love as well. But alas, love demands sacrifice. Not yours in this case, though. Sacrificing someone else is certainly better. More valuable. What shall we have you do... oh, I know. Bring me the blood of seven virgins mixed in this vial.~

Suddenly, one of the bones of the altar - looks a bit like a femur, but warped somehow - snaps off and rolls over to Scott. It is quite a large bone, obviously not of human origin, and it appears to have a sizable hollow in the middle of it. It is soon followed by what appears to be an enlarged bone from the middle ear. It looks like it would fit into the hollow of the larger bone.

~So, yes. The blood of seven virgins in this vial, offered on an altar constructed by yourself out of virgin bone according to my specifications. Yes, it has to be virgin bone, otherwise you won't get anything. However, do this and you shall have what you asked for. Have fun. Enjoy and remember the experience!~

The voice stops, the fingers of Velusius relaxing their stranglehold on Scott's body, the eyes on the walls closing. In but a moment, the room feels like it did before, though Scott certainly feels different. He has something new in his mind. A design for an altar. That's going to need the bones of at least three adult people. Damn.