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maderrBefore I fall over dead. The first four pages or so of Alchemist. Though I think Goblin might steal the show when she finally posts her story, b/c she is awesome and Zaede cracks me the fuck up.
And now I go to bed before I start to whine more than I already have ^_~
I love this song. This group.
II. The Alchemist
“You do not look as though you are going home, Master.”
Cerant smiled faintly and turned away from the sea to address the man who’d come up quietly beside him. “That is to say, I look as though I’m going into battle?”
“That would be correct.”
“You’ve never met my brother, Neikirk.” Cerant said. “He won’t be happy I’ve decided to come home.”
Neikirk nodded. “So you’ve said before. However, presenting yourself ready for a fight only ensures you will engage in one. Should you not present yourself as peacefully as possible?”
Laughing softly, Cerant reached out and flicked Neikirk gently on the nose. “As I have said, you have never met my brother. It is best to be braced for the worst…and out here at sea, who knows what we may encounter? I wear my sword as much for that as anything. Are your trunks still safe, in the hour since last you checked them?”
“They are well enough, Master.” Neikirk wrinkled his nose. “I do wish the sailors would not get so angry with me. Do they not understand the importance of what they carry? Much of it I will not be able to duplicate in the North, and the books are by far the most valuable thing upon this vessel.”
Cerant turned his gaze back tot the ocean, which was still hazy and gray in the early morning. “Are they?” he asked softly, mostly to himself.
“Master?”
“How many times must I say that you need not call me that, Neikirk?”
Neikirk gave him a calm, composed look, blinking slowly in that way that said he was being slow to accommodate the lesser intelligence of his companion. “You are my Master, Prince Cerant, as I have oft reminded you. Therefore, it is the most proper form of address.”
“I have not forgotten you are mine, Neikirk,” Cerant said, fighting a smile, ignoring the pang that came with his own words.
Among his things was the contract that said Neikirk was his property. Technically, that Cerant was Neikirk’s sponsor. In the South, however, that amounted to little more than slavery.
Those with any amount of real talent were immediately thrown into school to master the arts of alchemy. It was expensive work though – years of study, a constant need for ingredients and supplies, countless books, paper and ink to record new discoveries and incantations – the southern word for spells – and of course the space to work. All of this required sponsors, people willing to foot the expensive bill, for alchemists could seldom afford to do it all themselves.
So anyone with alchemical talent was bought by the government, taught the ways of alchemy, and those not kept to work for the government were auctioned off.
A year or so after his arrival in the south, Cerant had been dragged along to a private auction by one of his new acquaintances. He’d been informed almost from the moment he’d arrived that it would be best if he had one – it would show his affluence, his status, to have an alchemist of his own.
Cerant had wanted no part of it. Personally, he thought that if the Goddess knew how far from the path her children in the South had strayed, she would roast them all on a spit. However pushing his “old fashioned religious notions” would have accomplished nothing, and it was vitally important he get along with the South. So he’d dodged their urges that he buy one and kept himself too busy doing other things until the night a friend finally managed to drag him to auction. Even then, he’d only planned to watch and learn. He’d had no intention of actually buying an alchemist.
Then he’d seen the young man with the blazing amber eyes, standing as still as stone, dressed in the deep green tunic worn by all alchemists. His hair was dark blonde, ever so slightly curly despite an obvious effort to comb it out straight and smooth…the sort of hair that look best thoroughly mussed, preferably in Cerant’s bed.
A situation that wasn’t unheard of – far from it – between alchemists and sponsors. Whether the alchemist was a willing participant…
Cerant wouldn’t do it, couldn’t do it – but that hadn’t kept him from purchasing the slender, handsome alchemist with the blazing eyes. Neikirk had cost him more than he liked to admit, for he knew good and well it was the pretty face that he was paying for, as at the time he’d had no real idea what alchemists could do. North and South generally preferred to leave one another alone, except at the Borderlands where the two mingled peacefully enough.
It hadn’t taken him long to care about far more than a pretty face.
Neikirk had proved to be the exact opposite of those blazing eyes. Serious, calm, methodical and precise in all things. Riling him was nearly impossible, and he remained unmoved by all of Cerant’s attempts at friendship. Only in recent months had he begun thawing enough to tease and jest in his own quiet fashion.
His life was alchemy, however. Cerant wondered if he studied and practiced in his sleep. All Neikirk did related to his experiments, to improving himself and his knowledge that he might move on to greater experiments.
Sighing at himself, Cerant forced his thoughts away from the man who was both near and far and instead turned it toward home. His brother would be furious he’d returned without permission, but Goddess grant him peace he wanted to be home! He wasn’t in exile, Rofell needed to stop treating him as though he were. At least with the element of surprise, he would have a few days at home before his brother shipped him off again.
“You look troubled, Master.”
“I am wondering if perhaps I should don my armor before we reach home.”
Neikirk drew closer as the breeze picked up, somehow managing to appear so still despite the way the sudden wind tore at his hair and dark tunic. “It would not like the sea air…and I feel that perhaps the crew would be less than pleased at having to fetch it from the hold.”
Cerant lifted a brow, never quite able to tell when Neikirk was being serious and when he was making one of his quiet jests. This must be a jest. “Less than pleased? You’ve a gift for understatement, my dear.”
“Instead of dwelling on the upcoming interview with your brother, Master, perhaps you would tell me more of those things that make facing your brother a worthy trial?”
“My friends, for one,” Cerant said. He smiled ruefully. “Though after seven years I wonder…I do seem determined to dwell on dark thoughts today, don’t I?”
Neikirk’s lips twitched, but the smile couldn’t win against his habit of remaining composed. “Today, Master?”
Cerant grinned. “All right, always. So I’ve a gloomy turn of mind. That’s why you’re here, to distract me. Please do so. What are you planning to do once we are settled? I suppose that entails finding you proper quarters…” Cerant frowned in thought, drumming his fingers on one cheek. “Would you prefer I obtain you rooms in the castle? Or would you be more comfortable in the city itself?”
Blinking slowly, Neikirk replied, “As my Master is a man of some importance whose presence in the castle will oft be required, I am inclined to take rooms there if it will not inconvenience anyone.”
“You’re being clever,” Cerant said, laughing. “There goes that gift for understatement again. I wonder how many people ever notice what you’re actually saying. I warn you, though, that living in the castle is a noisy business.”
Neikirk merely blinked at him and said nothing.
Cerant chuckled and rolled his eyes. “You’re right. Nothing could possibly be louder than the farewell to which I was treated.”
“You will be missed.”
“I know, and I’m not wholly adverse to going back…but I would like to be home for a time.” He once more turned to face Neikirk. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“It is my duty to follow my Master wherever he chooses to go.”
Cerant buried his unhappiness at the levelly spoken words. “I offered to free you,” he reminded gently.
Neikirk smoothed his hair as the wind finally died. “Freedom would have necessitated full time work, which would have interfered with my experiments. It most suits my goals to remain with my Master. That aside, Master, you are rather interested to see what effect I will have on your brother and fellows.”
“Perhaps,” Cerant conceded. “Any other motives, oh wise one?”
“Master?” Neikirk said, the ghost of a frown appearing. “Your tone implies there are other motives.”
“Never mind,” Cerant said with a sigh. “What experiments do you have planned for once you are settled?”
Neikirk was silent, though his bright amber eyes were fastened intently on Cerant.
Cerant smiled. Even after all their years together, Neikirk was still always surprised at his interest in the never ending experiments. He shouldn’t be surprised really – it had taken him the better part of that first year to get the man simply to converse. Neikirk had seemed dead set on working diligently but silently.
The one thing no one had bothered to explain to him until after he’d begun bidding on Neikirk was that the young alchemist was what they called an ‘experimental alchemist,’ the most prized – and therefore most expensive – of the wide variety of alchemist. He prescribed to no particular alchemical type, but instead mastered all of them in order to constantly test and improve what was known about each and about alchemy in general. Alchemists like Neikirk were often sold in private auctions to which only the most affluent were invited – and only to those who had close ties to the government, so that the alchemist was never far from watchful eyes.
To say they hadn’t been pleased he took Neikirk home with him was an understatement so vast it made the ocean look like a puddle. There was nothing they could do about it though, the South had all but turned contract writing into an art form. Neikirk belonged to him, and he could do as he pleased.
Were he a lesser man, he would have done precisely as he pleased a long time ago.
Sadly, he liked to think and act as though he were a better man.
Perhaps the change in location would loosen Neikirk up, and incline him toward wanting his freedom – then Cerant could perhaps, finally, do exactly as he pleased.
“Master, if you keep gazing out at the ocean that way, the crew will believe that you want to throw yourself overboard.”
Cerant let out a surprised laugh. “Do I really look so gloomy?”
“Does something more than the matter of your brother upset you, Master?”
“Isn’t that enough?” Cerant said, dredging up a smile. He motioned out to sea. “Looks like there’s a storm coming upon us, my dear.” He winked. “Better go make certain your trunks are suitably strapped down for rough weather, eh? I would hate to think what might happen to some of that stuff if we should spring a link or something…”
Neikirk blinked, and Cerant knew he wasn’t fooling the younger man. It seemed, however, that he would be indulged, for Neikirk merely sketched an elegant bow and then turned sharply around to go and speak with the Captain – who was already waiting in resignation to be harassed once again.
And now I go to bed before I start to whine more than I already have ^_~
I love this song. This group.
II. The Alchemist
“You do not look as though you are going home, Master.”
Cerant smiled faintly and turned away from the sea to address the man who’d come up quietly beside him. “That is to say, I look as though I’m going into battle?”
“That would be correct.”
“You’ve never met my brother, Neikirk.” Cerant said. “He won’t be happy I’ve decided to come home.”
Neikirk nodded. “So you’ve said before. However, presenting yourself ready for a fight only ensures you will engage in one. Should you not present yourself as peacefully as possible?”
Laughing softly, Cerant reached out and flicked Neikirk gently on the nose. “As I have said, you have never met my brother. It is best to be braced for the worst…and out here at sea, who knows what we may encounter? I wear my sword as much for that as anything. Are your trunks still safe, in the hour since last you checked them?”
“They are well enough, Master.” Neikirk wrinkled his nose. “I do wish the sailors would not get so angry with me. Do they not understand the importance of what they carry? Much of it I will not be able to duplicate in the North, and the books are by far the most valuable thing upon this vessel.”
Cerant turned his gaze back tot the ocean, which was still hazy and gray in the early morning. “Are they?” he asked softly, mostly to himself.
“Master?”
“How many times must I say that you need not call me that, Neikirk?”
Neikirk gave him a calm, composed look, blinking slowly in that way that said he was being slow to accommodate the lesser intelligence of his companion. “You are my Master, Prince Cerant, as I have oft reminded you. Therefore, it is the most proper form of address.”
“I have not forgotten you are mine, Neikirk,” Cerant said, fighting a smile, ignoring the pang that came with his own words.
Among his things was the contract that said Neikirk was his property. Technically, that Cerant was Neikirk’s sponsor. In the South, however, that amounted to little more than slavery.
Those with any amount of real talent were immediately thrown into school to master the arts of alchemy. It was expensive work though – years of study, a constant need for ingredients and supplies, countless books, paper and ink to record new discoveries and incantations – the southern word for spells – and of course the space to work. All of this required sponsors, people willing to foot the expensive bill, for alchemists could seldom afford to do it all themselves.
So anyone with alchemical talent was bought by the government, taught the ways of alchemy, and those not kept to work for the government were auctioned off.
A year or so after his arrival in the south, Cerant had been dragged along to a private auction by one of his new acquaintances. He’d been informed almost from the moment he’d arrived that it would be best if he had one – it would show his affluence, his status, to have an alchemist of his own.
Cerant had wanted no part of it. Personally, he thought that if the Goddess knew how far from the path her children in the South had strayed, she would roast them all on a spit. However pushing his “old fashioned religious notions” would have accomplished nothing, and it was vitally important he get along with the South. So he’d dodged their urges that he buy one and kept himself too busy doing other things until the night a friend finally managed to drag him to auction. Even then, he’d only planned to watch and learn. He’d had no intention of actually buying an alchemist.
Then he’d seen the young man with the blazing amber eyes, standing as still as stone, dressed in the deep green tunic worn by all alchemists. His hair was dark blonde, ever so slightly curly despite an obvious effort to comb it out straight and smooth…the sort of hair that look best thoroughly mussed, preferably in Cerant’s bed.
A situation that wasn’t unheard of – far from it – between alchemists and sponsors. Whether the alchemist was a willing participant…
Cerant wouldn’t do it, couldn’t do it – but that hadn’t kept him from purchasing the slender, handsome alchemist with the blazing eyes. Neikirk had cost him more than he liked to admit, for he knew good and well it was the pretty face that he was paying for, as at the time he’d had no real idea what alchemists could do. North and South generally preferred to leave one another alone, except at the Borderlands where the two mingled peacefully enough.
It hadn’t taken him long to care about far more than a pretty face.
Neikirk had proved to be the exact opposite of those blazing eyes. Serious, calm, methodical and precise in all things. Riling him was nearly impossible, and he remained unmoved by all of Cerant’s attempts at friendship. Only in recent months had he begun thawing enough to tease and jest in his own quiet fashion.
His life was alchemy, however. Cerant wondered if he studied and practiced in his sleep. All Neikirk did related to his experiments, to improving himself and his knowledge that he might move on to greater experiments.
Sighing at himself, Cerant forced his thoughts away from the man who was both near and far and instead turned it toward home. His brother would be furious he’d returned without permission, but Goddess grant him peace he wanted to be home! He wasn’t in exile, Rofell needed to stop treating him as though he were. At least with the element of surprise, he would have a few days at home before his brother shipped him off again.
“You look troubled, Master.”
“I am wondering if perhaps I should don my armor before we reach home.”
Neikirk drew closer as the breeze picked up, somehow managing to appear so still despite the way the sudden wind tore at his hair and dark tunic. “It would not like the sea air…and I feel that perhaps the crew would be less than pleased at having to fetch it from the hold.”
Cerant lifted a brow, never quite able to tell when Neikirk was being serious and when he was making one of his quiet jests. This must be a jest. “Less than pleased? You’ve a gift for understatement, my dear.”
“Instead of dwelling on the upcoming interview with your brother, Master, perhaps you would tell me more of those things that make facing your brother a worthy trial?”
“My friends, for one,” Cerant said. He smiled ruefully. “Though after seven years I wonder…I do seem determined to dwell on dark thoughts today, don’t I?”
Neikirk’s lips twitched, but the smile couldn’t win against his habit of remaining composed. “Today, Master?”
Cerant grinned. “All right, always. So I’ve a gloomy turn of mind. That’s why you’re here, to distract me. Please do so. What are you planning to do once we are settled? I suppose that entails finding you proper quarters…” Cerant frowned in thought, drumming his fingers on one cheek. “Would you prefer I obtain you rooms in the castle? Or would you be more comfortable in the city itself?”
Blinking slowly, Neikirk replied, “As my Master is a man of some importance whose presence in the castle will oft be required, I am inclined to take rooms there if it will not inconvenience anyone.”
“You’re being clever,” Cerant said, laughing. “There goes that gift for understatement again. I wonder how many people ever notice what you’re actually saying. I warn you, though, that living in the castle is a noisy business.”
Neikirk merely blinked at him and said nothing.
Cerant chuckled and rolled his eyes. “You’re right. Nothing could possibly be louder than the farewell to which I was treated.”
“You will be missed.”
“I know, and I’m not wholly adverse to going back…but I would like to be home for a time.” He once more turned to face Neikirk. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“It is my duty to follow my Master wherever he chooses to go.”
Cerant buried his unhappiness at the levelly spoken words. “I offered to free you,” he reminded gently.
Neikirk smoothed his hair as the wind finally died. “Freedom would have necessitated full time work, which would have interfered with my experiments. It most suits my goals to remain with my Master. That aside, Master, you are rather interested to see what effect I will have on your brother and fellows.”
“Perhaps,” Cerant conceded. “Any other motives, oh wise one?”
“Master?” Neikirk said, the ghost of a frown appearing. “Your tone implies there are other motives.”
“Never mind,” Cerant said with a sigh. “What experiments do you have planned for once you are settled?”
Neikirk was silent, though his bright amber eyes were fastened intently on Cerant.
Cerant smiled. Even after all their years together, Neikirk was still always surprised at his interest in the never ending experiments. He shouldn’t be surprised really – it had taken him the better part of that first year to get the man simply to converse. Neikirk had seemed dead set on working diligently but silently.
The one thing no one had bothered to explain to him until after he’d begun bidding on Neikirk was that the young alchemist was what they called an ‘experimental alchemist,’ the most prized – and therefore most expensive – of the wide variety of alchemist. He prescribed to no particular alchemical type, but instead mastered all of them in order to constantly test and improve what was known about each and about alchemy in general. Alchemists like Neikirk were often sold in private auctions to which only the most affluent were invited – and only to those who had close ties to the government, so that the alchemist was never far from watchful eyes.
To say they hadn’t been pleased he took Neikirk home with him was an understatement so vast it made the ocean look like a puddle. There was nothing they could do about it though, the South had all but turned contract writing into an art form. Neikirk belonged to him, and he could do as he pleased.
Were he a lesser man, he would have done precisely as he pleased a long time ago.
Sadly, he liked to think and act as though he were a better man.
Perhaps the change in location would loosen Neikirk up, and incline him toward wanting his freedom – then Cerant could perhaps, finally, do exactly as he pleased.
“Master, if you keep gazing out at the ocean that way, the crew will believe that you want to throw yourself overboard.”
Cerant let out a surprised laugh. “Do I really look so gloomy?”
“Does something more than the matter of your brother upset you, Master?”
“Isn’t that enough?” Cerant said, dredging up a smile. He motioned out to sea. “Looks like there’s a storm coming upon us, my dear.” He winked. “Better go make certain your trunks are suitably strapped down for rough weather, eh? I would hate to think what might happen to some of that stuff if we should spring a link or something…”
Neikirk blinked, and Cerant knew he wasn’t fooling the younger man. It seemed, however, that he would be indulged, for Neikirk merely sketched an elegant bow and then turned sharply around to go and speak with the Captain – who was already waiting in resignation to be harassed once again.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 02:17 am (UTC)*likes the Captain immediately, along with Neikirk and Cerant* XDXD
*fangirls* ^_________________________________^!!!
Date: 2006-09-13 02:23 am (UTC)I love the set-up for the Alchemists. I have to admit, when you mentioned them in The Necromancer, this was the absolutle last way I pictured it working. I pictured spoiled mad scientist lords. That the lords by and sell the mad smart alchemists? *___________* Have I mentioned lately how much you totally and completely kick ass? I mean seriously! AHHH!!!!
...Neikirk's going to be able to free Alfrey right? Eventually? *puppy eyes*
You know, you say you've been struggling lately, but I have to say, you always make it seem so damned effortless. ;3
*twirls you about* Eieeeee!!! *tackle glomps*
no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 02:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 02:36 am (UTC)Dear Lord I hope not, seeing as how Cerant's brother is all crazy and killing people.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 02:34 am (UTC)PS - Cerant is so emo.
(Can you imagine these guys as high school students? Because I can. I'll probably have trouble sleeping tonight, thinking about it. Koray would totally be goth. And Zaede would be the jock with a popped collar. Seriously. Losing sleep over this.)
no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 09:01 am (UTC)Zaede would be the one who knows the detetntion teachers personally and well. Sorin too, though only by accident -- he'd be the otherwise golden boy who needs to drop "certain friends if he wants to get far in life" except obviously he ignored them and also maanges to score goth!Koray.
I guess that would make Neikirk the Geek, obviously hangs with the other two and keeps them from getting arrested...I guess Teryn would actually be the good one. And a freshemen when the rest are like juniors or something. Teacher's Pet totally.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 01:59 pm (UTC)ZAEDE: Man, I swear Mrs. Crenshaw is a demon.
SORIN: Zaede, the chemistry teacher is not a demon.
ZAEDE: But chemistry is unholy!
NEIKIRK: I like it.
CERANT: What's the point of school, anyway? What's the point of life? *emotes*
KORAY: You're all stupid. Wait . . . No, it's just Zaede.
TERYN: . . . why did I transfer to this school?
Hey, I put the BM Notes in my memories, and I'm going to set its entry date to when I actually updated them. For some reason, that entry is screwing things up when I make backdated entries. XP I posted more BM last night, but I bet you didn't see it! Silly livejournal.
*sigh* Oh well, back to packing. If only I could bippity boppity my way out of this one. ;)
no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 04:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 05:09 pm (UTC)*is at work so can't roll on floor*
Dude, I totally looked. Did not see. Drat. Now I have to wait all day.
Pack! IF you're reading this, you're stalling!
no subject
Date: 2007-12-30 12:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 05:16 am (UTC)guess Cerant doesn't know about Rofell's dethroning...
can't wait to see what kind of situation he's getting into and what changes that will have on Neikirk.
do the Northerners and Southerners speak the same language??
no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 11:09 am (UTC)Oh the Cerant is going to have a big surprise waiting for him when he gets there. "BTW, you're brother went mad, used alchemy to do all sorts of unsavory things, and is no longer the king. Surprise!" And him bringing an alchemist? Oh yeah, that's going to look good.
I love Neikirk. He's so very... different than a lot of characters your write. I can't wait to see where this is going.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 11:46 am (UTC)Cerant definitely has his work cut out for him. Can't wait to see where this story goes!
no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 08:07 pm (UTC)Looking forward to more. I hope writing goes more smoothly soon.^^
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 02:00 am (UTC)anywho, lovely setup and very very intriqued ^__________^
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 02:45 am (UTC)*grins happily* Ahh, I miss reading your stories! Thanks for posting!
*huggles charas*