The Boy From Nexus (Artisan Quest Pt 3)By now, the Deathknight's caste mark stood out like an old, dull bruise. He opened his eyes with a soft groan, lifting a shaking hand to massage his temple. He would never understand how He Who Walks Within Webs of Deception Sowing Fear and Reaping Despair had been able to withstand being so much more attuned to the voices of the Neverborn. If he himself attempted to focus on them, even as weak as his connection was, their insane ranting threatened to suck him in before he could even grasp a single word properly. If he dared to let his thoughts drift along with their mad narrative in hopes of catching something relevant, it was only a matter of time before his mind recoiled forcefully, snapping back like a bowstring to escape the sense of confused horror that assaulted it in response to the primordials' cries.
If it is disloyal of me to not pursue this avenue, then I am sorry - but I cannot continually risk my mental state in this way, he thought, irritated. The Artisan glanced
The Sun in the North (Artisan Quest Pt2)The demon had pretty much run the course of its usefulness, and with a journal filled with notations and painstakingly sketched diagrams, Artisan's interest was waning. The thing had been rendered down nearly to an empty shell of flesh and bone, organs lying around like pieces of a scattered puzzle, if a puzzle could be scattered in an exactingly neat manner. The Abyssal doctor could hardly see the point in reassembling the whole, resistant as it was to being raised to undeath, and its individual pieces were surprisingly uninspiring.
I could always clean and re-articulate the skeleton, he pondered as he stared down at it, it would be an interesting piece. Ah, but then again, I don't have the skull. It's no good without a skull.
I don't much feel like doing it anyway.
He sighed, and glanced down at his hands. Throughout his contemplation, he'd been leaning against the surgical table, gripping the edge of it. The tremors in his fingers had gotten better than they were the
The Brain is the First to Succumb (Artisan Pt 1)His eyes snapped open, pupils constricting sharply then expanding again in the darkness. One spidery-fingered fist was curled tight in the bedclothes, and he unclenched it slowly. Holding his breath, he tried to hear around the sound of his racing heartbeat, listening for whatever it was that had awoken him suddenly. A cold, sick dread burrowed in his gut, but for the life of him he could not identify the source.
Finally, he exhaled with a hiss of air. It was probably just a nightmare - funny that he should still get those from time to time. The tower was quiet, and as he'd chosen to sleep in his proper room for once, he was so far removed from the basements that not even the shuffle of the undead was audible.
Ah! - there was his answer, he reasoned. He'd become so accustomed to hearing their motions that the absence of the background noise made him uneasy. He was a creature of habit, after all, and a fool to think that taking a night away from his labs would be restful.
The Artisan ro