Subject: Re: One Night in Nesalin

Wine, cheese... a roaring fire... Sa'id had almost forgotten that such luxuries existed over the past two weeks. The necromancer watches the firelight play on his glass, creating dancing patterns and beauty out of nothing. Fire brought warmth, but it also brought death. That so versatile and powerful a tool could also give rise to such simple beauty...

The orange glow makes Sa'id's wine seem darker, thicker. Blood. The Murrkat screaming as Sa'id's rays of flame burned them alive. They screamed as though they still had their souls, they screamed the same way he would scream if his own arts were turned against him.

Why, he wonders suddenly, did I seek this power? It differs from Garyth's skill with the blade and Rennik's with the bow. Even from Farron's conjuring skills. This destructive force bore more resemblance to what the others had told him of Cadfael's explosive wrath at the lodge. Anger manifested as raw destruction on a scale that swords and arrows could never hope to match. Yes, it was more in line with what he knew about the priestly ability to destroy the undead. The undead whose workings he understood so very well in theory, on paper, but that disgusted and repelled him in real life even as he stole them from their masters and bent them to his will. Even as with each step he drew closer to attaining the ability to create them himself.

Could the gods work their will even through reluctant vessels such as himself? Were his arts... godly? His own flame simply a reflection Pelor's sun? If Cadfael could wreak such devastation through Pelor's grace, why not him?

Or was that destructive power born of the priest's inner struggle, the explosion of anger brought about by the Devourer's influence? Should it be resisted? Its use avoided?

But, a small voice whispers, you like it. Enjoy it, even. Derive pleasure each time you unleash the flame. And you are not limited to the righteous destruction of undead abominations.

You can sear the skin of the living, soulless or not. Good, evil, or uncaring.

Sa'id blinks. The voice is gone. There is only Farron, seated across from him, similarly lost in thought. The necromancer shivers -- despite the warmth -- and drinks deeply from his glass. Mentally, he recites a prayer to the sun god, a prayer from his homeland. It feels good to think in his native tongue.

"Salaam alei'hon," he murmurs to himself. Peace be with them, peace be upon them. "Aw alei'na salaam." With us as well.

[OOC: Back to Fellus' in the morning, yup.]