9th of Searing, Year 120
Necromancy had a long legacy with his people. But as much as the Remedy warned him of its evils, not all of it was so bad. It was what saved Eleanor's life. It could be used to enhance one's vitality, restore lost limbs, perform acts of healing impossible by any other means. Society's mind was far from open to it, leading some to call it 'Briomancy' to disguise its controversial origins. But . . . it was what it was. It was what it had always been: a tool, to be utilized how the wielder of that tool saw fit.
Do you understand Necromancy? Wylen had asked him.
Not well.
It's an incredible tool. It's like holding the hand of God; you can extend life, embolden it, empower it, convert it to death, or convert death to life; you can harness the intellect of other beings and implant them into others. You can craft and wield the undead. Often, I like to replicate the intelligence of dogs into other beings. From there, you can even customize...
And the man continued. He had sounded so excited. In truth most of the prospect horrified Taelian, though when he looked back upon their conversation he realized that nothing Necromancy did seemed to be as foul as the Black Sigil itself. Nullifying one's personality altogether, repressing one's soul, concealing their being. Making them blank. Perhaps Necromancy could do that too, but . . . it didn't have to. It wasn't like creating a Famished, yet another tool in Aldrin's war -- it was diverse. It could heal.
He was a Member now, so he could utilize all of the facilities however he wanted. The Necromancy 'den' as it was called had, as far as he was aware, all of the tools necessary to become a skilled Necromancer. It had slabs of refrigerated flesh, unique animal limbs, and even living animals for experimentation. Though the prospect of working on one of the room's many caged rabbits and cats felt sickening to him. Taelian decided that he would stick to the inanimate flesh - chicken breasts, all of that. At least they were already dead.
The first tool was the Carving Hook. It was as simple as he thought it was: it manipulated flesh, skin and so on, opening and moving it, shifting its proportions. Though it was a hook, it sculpted flesh fairly well from what he had learned. It could be used to finely shape things; to carve the chicken breast, for example, into the shape of a leg. Or to symmetrically rend it apart.
Taelian held the tool in hand, and began to dig the hook into the meat. It parted easily, the flesh around it shifting something like how he willed it to. But he had no idea, after that, what to do. He wasn't a skilled surgeon, nor a sculptor. Nor did he even know what the hook was really meant for. Opening things up, he supposed. And...
Altering the shape, he remembered Wylen saying. That was clear.
"Ugh," he groaned. He didn't know how to do any of it. But he supposed that was what the room was for: experimentation. Taelian decided to continue, without asking for help. At least for now.
