“Vincenzo! I have offered you no harm, and have only defended myself. A Visitor you say, what is this? I fear there is a hidden meaning in such a word. I offer you this; I am not of this world, if that is your meaning, but I swear upon my mother’s grave that I am no friend of the gods,” I confessed as sincerely as I could.
My mother, to the best of my knowledge, was probably still very much alive but the lie came easily to my lips for the added dramatic effect.
Stretched across a few agonizing seconds, silence reigned supreme here, in the lair of the Necromancer. However, it was soon shattered by the growing heavy thud of many boots descending the stairs.
The bone growths disappeared, slinking back into the Necromancer’s voluminous robes. Hastily, I sheathed my knife, my shield becoming a tangle of wormy threads, then disappearing into my arm.
A good thing too, for a group of well-armed men burst into the basement room, scant seconds later. Armored in ensorcelled heavy plate and chain, they could have been mistaken for automata golems. With weapons drawn, they scanned the scene before them through the grills of their helmets.
"What is the meaning of this?" demanded one of them, his voice deep and strong, yet somewhat muffled by his heavy helmet. His presence exuded a menace, like that of a faceless and uncaring machine.
Vincenzio stood motionless, like a statue. "One was being assisted by a Copper in one of one’s experiments, Ezlas. Unfortunately, an accident occurred," he replied slowly, his eyes not quite meeting those of his questioner. It seemed to me that his gaze was fixed on a point just beyond Ezlas' head.
"And if I were to go upstairs to verify, would I find that such a request was indeed made? That your experiment has received the necessary approval?" Ezlas's voice rose sharply in alarm, his tone verging on the edge of irritation.
“One has never been one to just go along with accepted societal norms,” The Necromancer shrugged nonchalantly, a gesture that seemed out of place with my image of him. He let out a raspy sigh and shook his head, subtly dismissing the question.
The armored man approached Vincenzio with heavy, metal-clad steps, towering over him. Yet, despite his imposing stature, he did not seem to overshadow the Necromancer.
Removing his great helm and tucking it under his arm, he revealed his features. Beneath, a padded mail coif struggled to contain the curls that peeked out from its edges. Yet, it was his face that was of note, dispelling much of the dread and mystery. With homely, rounded features, he resembled perhaps a benign village baker. A face far from menacing, but strikingly ordinary and harmless.
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"You intellectuals all think alike, believing you're governed by a different set of rules. No respect for the established order. You're supposed to make your requests through official channels, without trying to bypass the Guild. Am I making myself clear?" he insisted, his deep voice sounding much clearer now.
Watching the scene unfold, I realized what Vincenzio was doing. He was masking a greater sin with a lesser one. It was an impressive performance, worthy of a prize. Had I not known better, I would have believed him as well.
Suddenly and without warning, the armored man Ezlas turned, the full force of his gaze bearing down upon me. I had to stopper a grin, suppressing it deep within. The whole situation bordered on the comical and absurd.
Still obviously irked, he demanded, almost hissing, “Your name…” he paused for a moment as if unsure. “Copper ranker? I have not seen your face before.”
Before I could give an answer, a wave of entropy brushed against the armored brute, causing runes on his armor to flare in warning before dying down.
“And this? What is the meaning of this, pray tell?” he asked sarcastically, turning to the Necromancer. He had found his spoor again.
“As one has said, a minor accident has occurred. One would advise you and your men leave us, for one can not guarantee their safety, should you choose to interfere more. Rest assured, one will see to dealing with any lingering magical effects in good time,” he stated calmly, shooting me a look, heavy with meaning.
“And what exactly were you working on?” he continued stubbornly. A hint of worry threaded his voice as he cast glances at various points across the room.
The dark master of magic looked at Ezlas with reserved contempt. “A magister’s secret is his own, one is under no obligation to tell you the steps of one’s path. You know full well that one has been given a broad remit to do as one likes here. One dares add, it is thanks to one’s research that many of your brothers and sisters have been saved from crossing the River too soon,” Vincenzio replied haughtily.
With a mocking smile, Ezlas raised a hand, commanding his men to begin a search. Initially undaunted by Vincenzio’s warning, the group spread out to investigate. However, mere meters in, they entered my Entropic Aura and, much like what had happened with Ezlas, the arcane sigils on their armor flared. Alarmed by this unexpected reaction, they stopped in their tracks muttering with one another. Annoyed, their leader ordered them back and they quickly retreated to the entrance, wisely opting not to venture further into the Necromancer's den.
With an almost foolish slowness, I pulled the energy of my Entropic Aura inward, ending the spell and feeling an odd hollow feeling of regret. Why hadn't I done this sooner? It struck me then. Casting the spell had become as natural, a reflexive action barely noticed. Like drawing breath, maintaining it, doubly so.
Just as I was wrestling with this dread proposition, a notification flashed across my sight distracting me.
You have learned Entropic Aura (lvl.4)