Chapter 20: Lessons Learned
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Chapter 20: Lessons Learned
"You look like shit."
Hakoth looked at the kid who stood leaning against his door as if he might fall over if the wood weren't propping him up. He knew he'd been pushing him hard, but he didn't think he'd been pushing him this hard. He almost felt bad. Almost.
"I still expect a full day of work out of you," he warned the lad.
Tyron just nodded, he didn't have the spare energy to bother trying to come up with a clever or even polite response. Instead he just shuffled to the side so the Butcher had room to open his shop and took slow measured breaths to try and settle the food in his stomach. He'd made it back to the inn, somehow, and practically crawled up the stairs before slumping into bed, dried blood all over his face. He'd woken up three hours later feeling like burnt death, washed himself as best he could and staggered into town for his shift at the butcher’s.
At least he'd managed to put on fresh clothing, what he'd worn yesterday would likely need to be tossed into a fire, it was in no condition to be seen in public and wouldn't ever be again. Which meant more expenses. He sighed. He'd need to start earning money soon, and to have a better chance of that, he needed this Butcher to teach him something.
He worked through the day in a complete daze, moving on autopilot more often than not. He managed to summon enough focus to avoid any major errors, but he was still reprimanded by an irritated Hakoth on several occasions. After he'd cut himself for the third time whilst sharpening the Butcher cursed him and sent him out of the shop on delivery, but not before he carefully bandaged the wound with a poultice he kept in his work station. Tyron didn't really fancy being out in the sun, or in public, but at least he wouldn't be able to actively harm himself with sharp objects.
He blinked repeatedly to try and clear the grainy feeling from his eyes as he stood in front of the desk, Madeleine looking back at him with a concerned expression on her face.
"Tyron? Are you okay?"
"I'm just really tired," he tried to smile and failed utterly, looking more like a grimace.
"Maybe you need to take the day off? I can talk to dad about it if you want? In fact I -"
"No, please. It's fine. I just need to push through the day, get some sleep tonight and I'll be right as rain tomorrow, I promise."
"If you're sure..."
"I am."
He leaned to the side a little too far and almost fell over before he caught himself.
"For real," he added.
"Rrright," she said.
She looked down and rummaged through the neatly organised stack of pages next to the account book on the bench, causing Tyron's weary gaze to drop down almost against his will.
"Here," she said, pulling out a note and handing it too him. "This delivery is to the Gilded Swan, it's three streets over and all they're after is a couple of hams. The food is good at the Swan and I don't expect you back for at least an hour."
She leaned forward to make sure she had his attention.
"Got that?"
He blinked. Slowly.
"You forgot to carry the four here," he pointed at a particular line in the ledger before he grasped the note and wandered toward the back of the shop. After a few long seconds a thought bubbled up in his head. "Hm? Oh. Ah, thank you," he said, turning back to Madeleine with a bob of the head as he finally realised what she'd done for him. Under the watchful eye of Hak he gathered the hams from the cool room, carefully packed them before he hefted the box under his arm and walked out through the front door, passing the butcher's daughter who was busy double checking her figures.
Though it was only a stone's throw away, in his befuddled state it still took an embarrassing amount of time for Tyron to find it. Once inside he delivered the meat to the kitchen before he slumped into a chair and took a moment to rest his eyes.
"Did you hear about the marshals? The merchant Fillus was arrested for questioning this morning!"
"Oh my!"
Tyron's eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly in his chair, too quickly as it turned out, almost falling off and catching himself at the last moment. His antics naturally drew the eye of the two serving maids gossiping near his table.
"Almost went on a trip didn't you?" one laughed. "You alright there, love?"
"Yeah thanks," he didn't need to pretend to be embarrassed at his slip, "must have dozed off there. Any chance I can grab a plate... possibly an ale?"
"Sure thing. I'll be right back."
The older of the two smiled and took his order back to the kitchen as Tyron turned to the other.
"Sorry to intrude, but I heard you were saying something about a merchant getting arrested?"
Her eyes widened and she leapt at the chance to continue to discuss the latest scandal.
"Yes!" she leaned in conspiratorially. "I haven't heard why, but my cousin Eustace is a secretary for the crown records at the customs depot and she said the entire place was turned out by the marshals in the early morning. Dozens of people were dragged off to be questioned, including Fillus, which is just shocking."
Her expression said that he should share her amazement but he had no idea why.
"Sorry," he grimace/smiled, "I'm pretty new in town, who's Fillus?"
"Oh! He's the richest merchant in Woodsedge, moves goods for the Slayer Keep, monster parts and rare materials as I understand it. Apparently they homed in on his warehouses most of all and he was dragged out of bed and hauled down the street! I would have killed to have seen it myself!"
Sorry Fillus.
"Balls. I'm still under suspicion, aren't I?"
The marshal finally stood and turned to face him.
"What do you think?" marshal Langdon asked him.
"I think that every time some shit goes down your morons find the nearest Slayer and start rattling their cage."
The marshal sighed.
"How often do you think a Slayer goes rogue out here, Mr Levan? Take a guess."
Dove just stared back at him, refusing to answer.
"Two per year, at least. There are always casualties. Innocents caught up in the fray, when one of you snaps. And you know something? Most of those innocents are other Slayers, murdered out on the job, or killed in their sleep. It's very hard to see it coming. I've never been able to. One day a perfectly fine Slayer, maybe getting a little too close to the next rank-up just decides to go out with a bang."
The Summoner didn't blink.
"I find it a little hard to blame them sometimes," he admitted. "Knowing what we know. Do you?"
"No. I don't."
The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Dove shrugged and stepped around the other.
"Well, let me take a look. The faster we catch the prick who did this the faster I get my name cleared and go back to doing what I truly love: killing rift-kin to keep fine, law-abiding citizens like you safe."
After a moment magick ignited just beyond his eyes, two rings of green light that rotated and flared as he carefully looked around the room.
"Well, I can tell you that whoever did this is batshit crazy. Drawing a circle by hand, in the dust? That is the act of someone with truly, truly pendulous nads, or someone with an extreme level of skill. It's also smart. No ritual mediums? No wardings? No arcane focus? The spell residue is all kinds of fucked up, I can't read a thing, and that's because there was no container for it. The moment the spell collapsed it all went to nothing, which is clearly a deliberate choice on the part of the caster."
"Why do you think the spell failed?"
"Well, I take it we're confident that the caster survived?"
The marshal nodded.
"Well that rules out the most likely theory. If the spell was in fact a summoning, then it could have failed for a number of reasons, lapse in concentration, ran out of juice, something spooked him or he just ran out of time and ended the spell in order to make a getaway."
"You said if it were a summoning?"
"It's possible that the caster merely wanted to contact the abyss, as opposed to summoning an abyssal. From what I know there's all sorts of creepy shit you can learn, though as I understand it most mages go mad when they try it. He may also have wanted to try and establish a contract with the creature, possibly for a summoning in the future."
He paused for a moment and rolled his eyes.
"Which would be another reason that I'm suspect. Selene's tits this is a pain. Right. No teleportation magick also makes sense, you wouldn't want to do it anywhere near your ritual site since any disturbance to the dimensional weave could disrupt the spell. Whoever did this knew what the fuck they were doing, that's for sure. They also had to know that their spell would be detected. Which means they must have planned out a response to what will follow."
"You don't suspect a cultist?"
Dove waved a hand dismissively.
"Hell no. This kind of spellwork is hard, and more than that, takes a damn tough mind. A cracked in the head lunatic doesn't have what it takes to pull this off and the better put together ones have no reason to antagonize the authorities and do it in the middle of a town. Not unless there is something going on much deeper than what I can understand."
The marshal paused thoughtfully.
"Any idea what sort of class might have done this?"
Dove shook his head.
"Impossible to say. A Summoner could, but they would have to be taught the spell since, as I'm sure you know, it isn't a class choice available to us. Dark Summoner on the other hand, definitely does get access, but they sure as heck don't advertise themselves. Tricky one would be a Dimension Mage. They're the real experts when it comes to spellwork like this, what I do is of a very different flavour, though they're both wine I suppose. As you suggested, an Arcane Cultist of some variety could have access to the spell, I sure as shit wouldn’t know. Other than that, literally any mage with big enough balls to need a wheelbarrow to go walking and someone to teach them."
"What about a Necromancer?" the marshal asked.
"A what?" Dove turned to face him, surprise on his face.
"Reports came in of a young man who unlocked Necromancer in his awakening a week ago. In Foxbridge. Went rogue, currently missing."
The Slayer's face went slack for a moment as he gaped at the marshal, turned back to the circle and then back to the marshal once more.
"Are you seriously suggesting that an eighteen year old kid who had his class for a week would be capable of something like this? Seriously?"
Langdon didn't reply. Dove pushed a hand through his wild and unkempt hair.
"Alright, look. As far as I know a low level Necromancer can't do shit except create basic undead. If one were somehow able to learn this spell and pull it off under these circumstances then they would have to be the reborn god of fucking magick, Tel'anan himself."
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Chapter 20: Lessons Learned
"You look like shit."
Hakoth looked at the kid who stood leaning against his door as if he might fall over if the wood weren't propping him up. He knew he'd been pushing him hard, but he didn't think he'd been pushing him this hard. He almost felt bad. Almost.
"I still expect a full day of work out of you," he warned the lad.
Tyron just nodded, he didn't have the spare energy to bother trying to come up with a clever or even polite response. Instead he just shuffled to the side so the Butcher had room to open his shop and took slow measured breaths to try and settle the food in his stomach. He'd made it back to the inn, somehow, and practically crawled up the stairs before slumping into bed, dried blood all over his face. He'd woken up three hours later feeling like burnt death, washed himself as best he could and staggered into town for his shift at the butcher’s.
At least he'd managed to put on fresh clothing, what he'd worn yesterday would likely need to be tossed into a fire, it was in no condition to be seen in public and wouldn't ever be again. Which meant more expenses. He sighed. He'd need to start earning money soon, and to have a better chance of that, he needed this Butcher to teach him something.
He worked through the day in a complete daze, moving on autopilot more often than not. He managed to summon enough focus to avoid any major errors, but he was still reprimanded by an irritated Hakoth on several occasions. After he'd cut himself for the third time whilst sharpening the Butcher cursed him and sent him out of the shop on delivery, but not before he carefully bandaged the wound with a poultice he kept in his work station. Tyron didn't really fancy being out in the sun, or in public, but at least he wouldn't be able to actively harm himself with sharp objects.
He blinked repeatedly to try and clear the grainy feeling from his eyes as he stood in front of the desk, Madeleine looking back at him with a concerned expression on her face.
"Tyron? Are you okay?"
"I'm just really tired," he tried to smile and failed utterly, looking more like a grimace.
"Maybe you need to take the day off? I can talk to dad about it if you want? In fact I -"
"No, please. It's fine. I just need to push through the day, get some sleep tonight and I'll be right as rain tomorrow, I promise."
"If you're sure..."
"I am."
He leaned to the side a little too far and almost fell over before he caught himself.
"For real," he added.
"Rrright," she said.
She looked down and rummaged through the neatly organised stack of pages next to the account book on the bench, causing Tyron's weary gaze to drop down almost against his will.
"Here," she said, pulling out a note and handing it too him. "This delivery is to the Gilded Swan, it's three streets over and all they're after is a couple of hams. The food is good at the Swan and I don't expect you back for at least an hour."
She leaned forward to make sure she had his attention.
"Got that?"
He blinked. Slowly.
"You forgot to carry the four here," he pointed at a particular line in the ledger before he grasped the note and wandered toward the back of the shop. After a few long seconds a thought bubbled up in his head. "Hm? Oh. Ah, thank you," he said, turning back to Madeleine with a bob of the head as he finally realised what she'd done for him. Under the watchful eye of Hak he gathered the hams from the cool room, carefully packed them before he hefted the box under his arm and walked out through the front door, passing the butcher's daughter who was busy double checking her figures.
Though it was only a stone's throw away, in his befuddled state it still took an embarrassing amount of time for Tyron to find it. Once inside he delivered the meat to the kitchen before he slumped into a chair and took a moment to rest his eyes.
"Did you hear about the marshals? The merchant Fillus was arrested for questioning this morning!"
"Oh my!"
Tyron's eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly in his chair, too quickly as it turned out, almost falling off and catching himself at the last moment. His antics naturally drew the eye of the two serving maids gossiping near his table.
"Almost went on a trip didn't you?" one laughed. "You alright there, love?"
"Yeah thanks," he didn't need to pretend to be embarrassed at his slip, "must have dozed off there. Any chance I can grab a plate... possibly an ale?"
"Sure thing. I'll be right back."
The older of the two smiled and took his order back to the kitchen as Tyron turned to the other.
"Sorry to intrude, but I heard you were saying something about a merchant getting arrested?"
Her eyes widened and she leapt at the chance to continue to discuss the latest scandal.
"Yes!" she leaned in conspiratorially. "I haven't heard why, but my cousin Eustace is a secretary for the crown records at the customs depot and she said the entire place was turned out by the marshals in the early morning. Dozens of people were dragged off to be questioned, including Fillus, which is just shocking."
Her expression said that he should share her amazement but he had no idea why.
"Sorry," he grimace/smiled, "I'm pretty new in town, who's Fillus?"
"Oh! He's the richest merchant in Woodsedge, moves goods for the Slayer Keep, monster parts and rare materials as I understand it. Apparently they homed in on his warehouses most of all and he was dragged out of bed and hauled down the street! I would have killed to have seen it myself!"
Sorry Fillus.
"Balls. I'm still under suspicion, aren't I?"
The marshal finally stood and turned to face him.
"What do you think?" marshal Langdon asked him.
"I think that every time some shit goes down your morons find the nearest Slayer and start rattling their cage."
The marshal sighed.
"How often do you think a Slayer goes rogue out here, Mr Levan? Take a guess."
Dove just stared back at him, refusing to answer.
"Two per year, at least. There are always casualties. Innocents caught up in the fray, when one of you snaps. And you know something? Most of those innocents are other Slayers, murdered out on the job, or killed in their sleep. It's very hard to see it coming. I've never been able to. One day a perfectly fine Slayer, maybe getting a little too close to the next rank-up just decides to go out with a bang."
The Summoner didn't blink.
"I find it a little hard to blame them sometimes," he admitted. "Knowing what we know. Do you?"
"No. I don't."
The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Dove shrugged and stepped around the other.
"Well, let me take a look. The faster we catch the prick who did this the faster I get my name cleared and go back to doing what I truly love: killing rift-kin to keep fine, law-abiding citizens like you safe."
After a moment magick ignited just beyond his eyes, two rings of green light that rotated and flared as he carefully looked around the room.
"Well, I can tell you that whoever did this is batshit crazy. Drawing a circle by hand, in the dust? That is the act of someone with truly, truly pendulous nads, or someone with an extreme level of skill. It's also smart. No ritual mediums? No wardings? No arcane focus? The spell residue is all kinds of fucked up, I can't read a thing, and that's because there was no container for it. The moment the spell collapsed it all went to nothing, which is clearly a deliberate choice on the part of the caster."
"Why do you think the spell failed?"
"Well, I take it we're confident that the caster survived?"
The marshal nodded.
"Well that rules out the most likely theory. If the spell was in fact a summoning, then it could have failed for a number of reasons, lapse in concentration, ran out of juice, something spooked him or he just ran out of time and ended the spell in order to make a getaway."
"You said if it were a summoning?"
"It's possible that the caster merely wanted to contact the abyss, as opposed to summoning an abyssal. From what I know there's all sorts of creepy shit you can learn, though as I understand it most mages go mad when they try it. He may also have wanted to try and establish a contract with the creature, possibly for a summoning in the future."
He paused for a moment and rolled his eyes.
"Which would be another reason that I'm suspect. Selene's tits this is a pain. Right. No teleportation magick also makes sense, you wouldn't want to do it anywhere near your ritual site since any disturbance to the dimensional weave could disrupt the spell. Whoever did this knew what the fuck they were doing, that's for sure. They also had to know that their spell would be detected. Which means they must have planned out a response to what will follow."
"You don't suspect a cultist?"
Dove waved a hand dismissively.
"Hell no. This kind of spellwork is hard, and more than that, takes a damn tough mind. A cracked in the head lunatic doesn't have what it takes to pull this off and the better put together ones have no reason to antagonize the authorities and do it in the middle of a town. Not unless there is something going on much deeper than what I can understand."
The marshal paused thoughtfully.
"Any idea what sort of class might have done this?"
Dove shook his head.
"Impossible to say. A Summoner could, but they would have to be taught the spell since, as I'm sure you know, it isn't a class choice available to us. Dark Summoner on the other hand, definitely does get access, but they sure as heck don't advertise themselves. Tricky one would be a Dimension Mage. They're the real experts when it comes to spellwork like this, what I do is of a very different flavour, though they're both wine I suppose. As you suggested, an Arcane Cultist of some variety could have access to the spell, I sure as shit wouldn’t know. Other than that, literally any mage with big enough balls to need a wheelbarrow to go walking and someone to teach them."
"What about a Necromancer?" the marshal asked.
"A what?" Dove turned to face him, surprise on his face.
"Reports came in of a young man who unlocked Necromancer in his awakening a week ago. In Foxbridge. Went rogue, currently missing."
The Slayer's face went slack for a moment as he gaped at the marshal, turned back to the circle and then back to the marshal once more.
"Are you seriously suggesting that an eighteen year old kid who had his class for a week would be capable of something like this? Seriously?"
Langdon didn't reply. Dove pushed a hand through his wild and unkempt hair.
"Alright, look. As far as I know a low level Necromancer can't do shit except create basic undead. If one were somehow able to learn this spell and pull it off under these circumstances then they would have to be the reborn god of fucking magick, Tel'anan himself."
Chapter 20: Lessons Learned"You look like shit."Hakoth looked at the kid who stood leaning against his door as if he might fall over if the wood weren't propping him up. He knew he'd been pushing him hard, but he didn't think he'd been pushing him this hard. He almost felt bad. Almost."I still expect a full day of work out of you," he warned the lad.Tyron just nodded, he didn't have the spare energy to bother trying to come up with a clever or even polite response. Instead he just shuffled to the side so the Butcher had room to open his shop and took slow measured breaths to try and settle the food in his stomach. He'd made it back to the inn, somehow, and practically crawled up the stairs before slumping into bed, dried blood all over his face. He'd woken up three hours later feeling like burnt death, washed himself as best he could and staggered into town for his shift at the butcher's.At least he'd managed to put on fresh clothing, what he'd worn yesterday would likely need to be tossed into a fire, it was in no condition to be seen in public and wouldn't ever be again. Which meant more expenses. He sighed. He'd need to start earning money soon, and to have a better chance of that, he needed this Butcher to teach him something.He worked through the day in a complete daze, moving on autopilot more often than not. He managed to summon enough focus to avoid any major errors, but he was still reprimanded by an irritated Hakoth on several occasions. After he'd cut himself for the third time whilst sharpening the Butcher cursed him and sent him out of the shop on delivery, but not before he carefully bandaged the wound with a poultice he kept in his work station. Tyron didn't really fancy being out in the sun, or in public, but at least he wouldn't be able to actively harm himself with sharp objects.He blinked repeatedly to try and clear the grainy feeling from his eyes as he stood in front of the desk, Madeleine looking back at him with a concerned expression on her face."Tyron? Are you okay?""I'm just really tired," he tried to smile and failed utterly, looking more like a grimace."Maybe you need to take the day off? I can talk to dad about it if you want? In fact I -""No, please. It's fine. I just need to push through the day, get some sleep tonight and I'll be right as rain tomorrow, I promise.""If you're sure...""I am."He leaned to the side a little too far and almost fell over before he caught himself."For real," he added."Rrright," she said.She looked down and rummaged through the neatly organised stack of pages next to the account book on the bench, causing Tyron's weary gaze to drop down almost against his will."Here," she said, pulling out a note and handing it too him. "This delivery is to the Gilded Swan, it's three streets over and all they're after is a couple of hams. The food is good at the Swan and I don't expect you back for at least an hour."She leaned forward to make sure she had his attention."Got that?"He blinked. Slowly."You forgot to carry the four here," he pointed at a particular line in the ledger before he grasped the note and wandered toward the back of the shop. After a few long seconds a thought bubbled up in his head. "Hm? Oh. Ah, thank you," he said, turning back to Madeleine with a bob of the head as he finally realised what she'd done for him. Under the watchful eye of Hak he gathered the hams from the cool room, carefully packed them before he hefted the box under his arm and walked out through the front door, passing the butcher's daughter who was busy double checking her figures.Though it was only a stone's throw away, in his befuddled state it still took an embarrassing amount of time for Tyron to find it. Once inside he delivered the meat to the kitchen before he slumped into a chair and took a moment to rest his eyes."Did you hear about the marshals? The merchant Fillus was arrested for questioning this morning!""Oh my!"Tyron's eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly in his chair, too quickly as it turned out, almost falling off and catching himself at the last moment. His antics naturally drew the eye of the two serving maids gossiping near his table."Almost went on a trip didn't you?" one laughed. "You alright there, love?""Yeah thanks," he didn't need to pretend to be embarrassed at his slip, "must have dozed off there. Any chance I can grab a plate... possibly an ale?""Sure thing. I'll be right back."The older of the two smiled and took his order back to the kitchen as Tyron turned to the other."Sorry to intrude, but I heard you were saying something about a merchant getting arrested?"Her eyes widened and she leapt at the chance to continue to discuss the latest scandal."Yes!" she leaned in conspiratorially. "I haven't heard why, but my cousin Eustace is a secretary for the crown records at the customs depot and she said the entire place was turned out by the marshals in the early morning. Dozens of people were dragged off to be questioned, including Fillus, which is just shocking."Her expression said that he should share her amazement but he had no idea why."Sorry," he grimace/smiled, "I'm pretty new in town, who's Fillus?""Oh! He's the richest merchant in Woodsedge, moves goods for the Slayer Keep, monster parts and rare materials as I understand it. Apparently they homed in on his warehouses most of all and he was dragged out of bed and hauled down the street! I would have killed to have seen it myself!"Sorry Fillus."Balls. I'm still under suspicion, aren't I?"The marshal finally stood and turned to face him."What do you think?" marshal Langdon asked him."I think that every time some shit goes down your morons find the nearest Slayer and start rattling their cage."The marshal sighed."How often do you think a Slayer goes rogue out here, Mr Levan? Take a guess."Dove just stared back at him, refusing to answer."Two per year, at least. There are always casualties. Innocents caught up in the fray, when one of you snaps. And you know something? Most of those innocents are other Slayers, murdered out on the job, or killed in their sleep. It's very hard to see it coming. I've never been able to. One day a perfectly fine Slayer, maybe getting a little too close to the next rank-up just decides to go out with a bang."The Summoner didn't blink."I find it a little hard to blame them sometimes," he admitted. "Knowing what we know. Do you?""No. I don't."The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Dove shrugged and stepped around the other."Well, let me take a look. The faster we catch the prick who did this the faster I get my name cleared and go back to doing what I truly love: killing rift-kin to keep fine, law-abiding citizens like you safe."After a moment magick ignited just beyond his eyes, two rings of green light that rotated and flared as he carefully looked around the room."Well, I can tell you that whoever did this is batshit crazy. Drawing a circle by hand, in the dust? That is the act of someone with truly, truly pendulous nads, or someone with an extreme level of skill. It's also smart. No ritual mediums? No wardings? No arcane focus? The spell residue is all kinds of fucked up, I can't read a thing, and that's because there was no container for it. The moment the spell collapsed it all went to nothing, which is clearly a deliberate choice on the part of the caster.""Why do you think the spell failed?""Well, I take it we're confident that the caster survived?"The marshal nodded."Well that rules out the most likely theory. If the spell was in fact a summoning, then it could have failed for a number of reasons, lapse in concentration, ran out of juice, something spooked him or he just ran out of time and ended the spell in order to make a getaway.""You said if it were a summoning?""It's possible that the caster merely wanted to contact the abyss, as opposed to summoning an abyssal. From what I know there's all sorts of creepy shit you can learn, though as I understand it most mages go mad when they try it. He may also have wanted to try and establish a contract with the creature, possibly for a summoning in the future."He paused for a moment and rolled his eyes."Which would be another reason that I'm suspect. Selene's tits this is a pain. Right. No teleportation magick also makes sense, you wouldn't want to do it anywhere near your ritual site since any disturbance to the dimensional weave could disrupt the spell. Whoever did this knew what the fuck they were doing, that's for sure. They also had to know that their spell would be detected. Which means they must have planned out a response to what will follow.""You don't suspect a cultist?"Dove waved a hand dismissively."Hell no. This kind of spellwork is hard, and more than that, takes a damn tough mind. A cracked in the head lunatic doesn't have what it takes to pull this off and the better put together ones have no reason to antagonize the authorities and do it in the middle of a town. Not unless there is something going on much deeper than what I can understand."The marshal paused thoughtfully."Any idea what sort of class might have done this?"Dove shook his head."Impossible to say. A Summoner could, but they would have to be taught the spell since, as I'm sure you know, it isn't a class choice available to us. Dark Summoner on the other hand, definitely does get access, but they sure as heck don't advertise themselves. Tricky one would be a Dimension Mage. They're the real experts when it comes to spellwork like this, what I do is of a very different flavour, though they're both wine I suppose. As you suggested, an Arcane Cultist of some variety could have access to the spell, I sure as shit wouldn't know. Other than that, literally any mage with big enough balls to need a wheelbarrow to go walking and someone to teach them.""What about a Necromancer?" the marshal asked."A what?" Dove turned to face him, surprise on his face."Reports came in of a young man who unlocked Necromancer in his awakening a week ago. In Foxbridge. Went rogue, currently missing."The Slayer's face went slack for a moment as he gaped at the marshal, turned back to the circle and then back to the marshal once more."Are you seriously suggesting that an eighteen year old kid who had his class for a week would be capable of something like this? Seriously?"Langdon didn't reply. Dove pushed a hand through his wild and unkempt hair."Alright, look. As far as I know a low level Necromancer can't do shit except create basic undead. If one were somehow able to learn this spell and pull it off under these circumstances then they would have to be the reborn god of fucking magick, Tel'anan himself."
