2nd of Autumn, 518 AV
Waves of exhaustion coursed throughout the Nuit's consciousness, her lacking synchronization with the corpse shell she wore wearing tremendously on her motivation. Lethargy set deep within the undead, her silver eyes exploring the wooden surface of the table she sat in front of. Her feet scraped along the floor, covered by a pair of worn down shoes. Her attire failed to amuse her, as well. Savis Maren looked more like a patient in a hospital than a mage that'd very recently secured her existence for the Fall season. She found her connection with her legs suffered, not quite reaching a point where the Nuit would feel comfortable in travel. As bells passed in the course of the evening, the changing of the Watchtowers was left in the past, the second morning of the Autumn season parading Syna's light throughout the city.
Savis couldn't bear the idea of continuing here, doing nothing more than languishing. So, the Nuit had several options at her disposal, and she mused upon them for a time as she shifted in her seat, looking over the automaton, Sil and debating calling out for him. She set the thought aside, still holding a great deal of resentment for the automaton and his presumed hand at causing the Nuit to fear, for the first time in ages for the preservation of self.
There are a few things I could do, I suppose. I could begin to catalog my study of Nader-canoch and its written form, Glyphing. I've explored the craft before, but writing a proper review might prove advantageous, she mused. The idea seemed solid to her, and thus, instead of musing further, she immediately began to prepare for such musings. Savis breached into the wellspring of her soul. She found the djed that rooted itself within her ichor and allowed it to travel up the length of her spine before branching forth into her left arm. The Nuit allowed the djed to seep into her forearm, and she imagined very closely moulding that djed into a scalpel.
The Nuit utilized that imaginary scalpel to sever the connection between her physical arm and its astral body at the elbow. Once that link was severed, the Nuit began to will the limb to move forth. It obeyed her command, flying forth and towards her satchel. Rather than lifting the thing off the ground, Savis Maren tried very hard to pull at it, but alas, the entire thing was far too heavy to manipulate. With an exasperated sigh, she allowed her arm to breach into the bag and begin digging through its contents. She felt the cubic surface of the Voice Box, as well as her brush and paint set. She plucked that from its place, willing forth her hand. Lightly, she set the paints on her desk before moving back to the satchel in search of the next object to pull forth.
WC: 486
Savis couldn't bear the idea of continuing here, doing nothing more than languishing. So, the Nuit had several options at her disposal, and she mused upon them for a time as she shifted in her seat, looking over the automaton, Sil and debating calling out for him. She set the thought aside, still holding a great deal of resentment for the automaton and his presumed hand at causing the Nuit to fear, for the first time in ages for the preservation of self.
There are a few things I could do, I suppose. I could begin to catalog my study of Nader-canoch and its written form, Glyphing. I've explored the craft before, but writing a proper review might prove advantageous, she mused. The idea seemed solid to her, and thus, instead of musing further, she immediately began to prepare for such musings. Savis breached into the wellspring of her soul. She found the djed that rooted itself within her ichor and allowed it to travel up the length of her spine before branching forth into her left arm. The Nuit allowed the djed to seep into her forearm, and she imagined very closely moulding that djed into a scalpel.
The Nuit utilized that imaginary scalpel to sever the connection between her physical arm and its astral body at the elbow. Once that link was severed, the Nuit began to will the limb to move forth. It obeyed her command, flying forth and towards her satchel. Rather than lifting the thing off the ground, Savis Maren tried very hard to pull at it, but alas, the entire thing was far too heavy to manipulate. With an exasperated sigh, she allowed her arm to breach into the bag and begin digging through its contents. She felt the cubic surface of the Voice Box, as well as her brush and paint set. She plucked that from its place, willing forth her hand. Lightly, she set the paints on her desk before moving back to the satchel in search of the next object to pull forth.
WC: 486