short excerpt from Dancer-- book 3 the Chronicles of Marithe Yes, Mezzmer muttered, I warmed you and... His voice trailed off. If it had not been some wild dream, he had perfected the dance of joining. Mezzmer struggled to his feet and turned to his journal without another word to the knight. There he found his notes and the declaration of success. What might have passed for a dream was a reality. I need to... examine... you, Mezzmer began, slowly picking his words. It would not do to inform the man of his death and resurrection. Outside of the possibility that he might send the soldier into shock, Mezzmer knew that his skills were frowned upon in what was considered decent society. His form of magic healing was believed to be a dark art, an evil persuasion. Given that necromancers before him had sometimes failed--creating terrible abominations of nature--it was not unreasonable that common people lacked understanding. Contrary to the dictates of world concepts, Mezzmer was a gentle soul who only wanted to hone his innate skills for the good of others. I want to be certain there was no damage from... the... cold. He hoped his explanation sounded convincing.
Posted on: Tue, 01 Apr 2014 17:11:31 +0000
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