[ The Question of Arcane ]
A showing of magic from Lysander- followed by a more impressive one from Athryl.
An interest grows.
A short explanation of the arcane schools, given by Lysander. Later- a conversation with Storm directs her toward a particular university.
Later, observation of the dangers of magic, imposed on the world and those around her. Cosmic explanations might be much to ask for.
A chance meeting with a cogimen causes some introspection. And, perhaps, an interest.
Consistent reading at Evenfall and a brief discussion with Lana Wake only open up for more questions- something to pursue in an academic sense, if nothing else.
And formists continue to pop up. Seeing the return of a limb, and meeting Kam Hakiaz has turned the school to something new in her mind.
Conversations with Keone. Brief and only surface level-- so brief and surface level judgement is given.
It takes a special sort of person. You are not that.
[ Considerations on the Divine ]
A conversation with a Valiant worshiper, and another with one of the Grey Lady's.
She doesn't really get it.
A session of reading at the Evenfall academy and a visit to the cathedral. Encountering more blessed has been something to think on.
A prayer for the first time, to no one in particular.
More a show of trying, than expecting answers.
Meeting with a devout of Skraag has changed her outlook. The principle of the thing is- it is about the people, first. Gutter rats. And gumption.
And where was that god when she died? But, no- she would not have asked for help. In our mind, she was not that sort.
[ Something Brewing ]
The beginnings of a garden. Poorly assembled teas and cooking.
A hobby sprouts.
While trailing after Lysander, set to work on those menial tasks within alchemy.
A habit of gardening once more, albeit in clay pots- she would not advertise it, but the second floor houses a very clumsy alchemical workshop.
Her first attempt at proper potion-ry. She does not bother to tell anyone, just notes it in the ledger and moves on. An Oneiric Tincture, if you mind to know.
She grapples with the intricacies of salves. The healing variety.
[ The Sweet Muse ]
The most classic of educations, built as a foil for another. So the questions keep coming.
Clumsy lines of her own.
In a library, she speaks to another on inherited love for verse. A spark reignites.
Reading. So much reading- and the reading of the poems of a friend. She adores it. A match struck.
Her own works are slowly penned once more, stretching a muscle that sings.
A book is written and bound for something that is not alive, nor dead. A brisk discussion with a once-friend leaves scars and philosophy in its wake.
And another. She sits and does not write for some hours.
And once more. Some sparks fade.
[ The Academic Mind ]
Notes are kept in the margins. A cipher is developed- thanks, of course, to some extra reading.
A ledger is kept, of books read- her own collection of books, copied by hand, and sorted into their own columns on a page somewhere.
Injury slows the process. Her writing is too wobbly to work, just yet. Head in hand.
No tears shed. We will adjust. We are not some wilting thing.
As her ability to write strengthens once again, she takes on work. First, to grant a smith the ability to read- second, a poster for a dear childe.
[ Something Clashes ]
A blade is acquired. She spends evenings practicing some swings with it, in a guilty sort of way- lessons learned in a book.
Eventually, the sword feels less heavy in her hands. All action is driven by the need to be more than a trembling leaf in someone else's garden.
Down a finger, she reflects on the newfound desire for violence retribution in a detached sort of way.
The practice is continued, with her left as well as right.
A knife is granted. Kept near. We will not have to use it.
Another scar acquired. Keep them all, to remember how stupid it was.