>>5373567>>5373437>>5373274>>5373186>>5373156>>5373143>>5373117>>5373103>>5373071>>5373062You are consumed by internal conflict. You hunger for something, but you know not what—not at first. At first you think it is physical—a hunger for the pleasures of the flesh. You fixate upon every plump or pert backside, every swaying tail. Each time you make a move to summon the owner of the shapely rump to your quarters, though, and she turns around to face you…
It is the face of the one you lost which you see.
You give up on this pursuit, and for the next day you pace your chambers. On a slate-and-pinewood sits the one and only necromantic scroll which evaded Hapo the Deserter’s little claws. Maybe… Maybe you would feel better, be freed from this burden, if you only knew that Davora had made it safely to the realm of one of the Dark Gods—had been honoured, and was content with her lot? Maybe then you wouldn’t regret your decision… Her death? After all, surely she would understand—you had no way to know that her internal injuries were so great! You were only thinking about…
About the Novice Fleshweaver.
>+Novice affectionIn the end, it is there, with HER, that you sequester yourself. You spend you next few days, in study of her arts of meat-and-magic. She seems perturbed by your presence at first, shooting insults aplenty your way, admonishing you for distracting her from her study of dwarven corpses and the extraction of yet more materials to enrich and activate the newest batch of Amulets of Disguise. You counter the barbs. The familiar rhythm brings you some peace of mind, and in time she seems to adjust to yoru presence.
“If we are to leave the dark elves in charge of administering these surface-outposts in our stead, I wonder… Might we not benefit from better disguising just who and what they are?”
“Hm?” you grunt, snapping out of another turn towards introspection. “What?”
The Novice swats you with her tail and hisses.
“You are distracted. You absorb yourself in your studies, but the moment they cease, you seem to… Drift away.”
“I have much on my mind,” you counter. “Not all of us can cloister ourselves to obsess over a single subject unendingly, Oh Hyperfixated One.”
“And yet, you certainly seem fixated and obsessed yourself,” the Novice notes. “Just not with THIS work, THIS place.”
You grunt.
