{7/16} Preparations and Practice

[14:58] Here was as good a place as any. Better, even, than most within Dusk. There was too much chatter within the square, and people were ever sparring in the fields. And, last, Mertaisyl had an inkling that it was unlikely Sors would be pleased should it manage to burn down a house or market stall.

So it made the trek. Out into the cold. Still near enough Dusk that the lights of the city could be seen far below. That the top of the keep and the towers were visible crowded among the trees. Though perhaps that was just the fact the voidling was elevated.

Stone groaned underfoot. The thing relaxed the tension which had caused its claws to dig in. Great leathery wings slowly folded back, to keep the winds from pushing them one way or another. It was solid enough to withstand such motion, but the thing would rather not put in that kind of effort.

If it could make life easier, it would.

The undead dragon slowly drew a deep breath. Sharp, icy air filled those tainted lungs. Gradually fresh air soured and turned. It could feel the itch of the plague writhing within its lungs. A subtle feeling, to this monstrosity.

Were it living the thing knew it'd be far worse to bear. The fact the voidling could even feel it now, being undead, meant it must be a wretched thing in truth. It could only imagine how the process went inside. From the effects it saw of the void plague's infected, it could only assume the worst.

But that wasn't worth dwelling upon, now. It had a bit of work to do. Crystalline eyes fell shut, as it turned its attention inwards. Ignoring the howl of the wind. The chatter of the city far below. The faint few voices of nature, in birds or small animals nearby.

All else became static.

Cerulean mana started to pool in the back of its throat. It poured through each of the cut-in-place runework, one at a time. In sequential order, to form a mental map of each without forcing them to activate properly.One, and a bit of heat formed. Two, and it was pushed forward. Three, and nothing seemed to happen from that rune working on its own.

More. Again. Another. The rest. Each one slowly memorized, poured over once. Then twice. Then three times in total. From those inscribed upon the metallic stones set in its maw, to those dug into skin, to those upon the crystal most of all.

It was cautious with that one. The gem seemed to absorb mana poured into it, so attempting to skim across the surface was a bit more difficult than the rest. But in the end those thin lines of mana found each marking. Everything memorized internally.

For the next part, the voidling opened its maw.

Like an oven heat wafted out, the air rippling with distortions. And with another, tiny inhale to fill the last of its lungs- It started to exhale instead. At a snail's pace.

A thin stream of its plagued breath started to rise into its maw. Tossed, a bit, by the winds until it closedsuch again. Its breath paused, and mana started to surround the wisps of plague that had formed in its mouth. Pushing, forcing it up against one set of runework.

Mertaisyl braced itself for the pain. Claws dug into the stone beneath its feet once more. And it ignited the flammable breath, keeping the fire contained right against one set of runework. Scorching the pattern into place, to be sure it scarred over permanently. That the marks would never fade.

One by one the process continued. Line after line, rune after rune. The voidling opened its maw on occasiona to allow smoke to leave. To pour forth the heat which rose, so as to not burn the entirety of its mouth and throat.

It couldn't see the progress it made, but it could feel it. How raw that skin felt. Pain, dulled to its senses, yet pain nonetheless. Enough to make it almost want to stop.

Almost.

In the end it powered through. It had put what materials it obtained to use, in the only way it really could. Given armor and weaponry weren't exactly viable options.. But oh, it need not think on that now. The undead dragon had other things to think on.

The last of the void plague exited its maw. With a languid motion the thing stretched out its wings once more. It raised them high, then beat downward, putting in just enough effort to get clear of the mountain. And down, down just enough to reach the nearby snow.

As it set its head sideways in the soft white powder, internal workings started to tick away. Its maw opened to press snow up and against the back of its throat, while its mind turned to runes again. Irritation, for a moment. Oh Tenko's form of casting, his high and mighty attitude, it rubbed Mertaisyl the wrong way.

But it was effective. The voidling couldn't deny how well it worked. Hel, the fox could almost hold his own against the undead dragon with his reliance on his 'art.'

And it need not copy him.

No it only needed a few runes. Not so many as he boasted about. A few runes, which brought its attention to the back of its throat again. The top of its maw, where the crown jewel of its fiery pursuits rested. Once more mana started to skim the surface.

This time, for each rune it felt out, it mimicked the rune with another in front of itself. One formed from pure cerulean light, floating in the air. Then another. A third. Fine, precise control was required- But with mana it could do that much. If it were trying to write with its claws, that'd be a different story.

As it was, the creature poured over its work. It formed the runework once, and slammed it into the snow in a grander pattern to mark out its first attempt- But the snow drifted away.

So back to the stones of the mountain it flew.

Once again it wrote out the runework, scorching them into stone this time. Squinting, at each little thing. It didn't know what the runework meant. It didn't understand the language. But it had read into the spell's intent when it was active. It knew what it was supposed to do.

The voidling wiped away its work. Scratching it up, sweeping its tail over the bits and pieces. And it moved again, to another open spot. It sat, and it reached into the back of its throat with thin threads of mana. It poured over the surface, mapping the runes again. And again. Memorizing.

When it thought itself ready once more, it started to form each one off memory alone. It did not check its work, until it had scorched each into the mountain stone. Only then did it look at the original work again. Scrutinizing its own. Marking out which it had gotten wrong.

Less than before. It repeated the process.

Again it dug up the stones. Again it scratched them away and scorched the lot to be unrecognizable. Again it moved to a free space, again it poured over the stone. Again. Again. Again.

Until the thing had not the energy to put forth into its work. Until its reserves of mana were damn near expended. It pushed and focused down to a fine degree- And by the end of it, the thing was damn near confident it had perfected the pattern.

Finally, it scratched up the last piece of memorization. It left its work a mystery, and turned itself away from the writing of runes. It had other work to do, later on. It need regain its mana before that point.

So at a languid pace it climbed its way down the mountain. Gliding, at times, and at others simply crawling over stone. Away, until it reached the center of Dusk once more. There it could rest, and wait, for those who would join it. Hopefully, soon, it could put its work to use.
(Mertaisyl)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------