Jakobus's blog

Overview
As per the Law of Silvermoon, I stand under oath and civil obligation to report to the authorities when, in my practice, I encounter matters of dire importance or gravitas.As per that law, I must unfortunately file this report about an encounter I have recently had with Rhosyn.

 The events
Myself and my student Aizawa D'Aranath were engaged in a lesson in my office, when we heard a commotion coming from downstairs. When we moved the investigate, we noticed a horse (in the barding of a “Charger”) standing behind the bar of the Wayfarer Inn, mounted by the female healer Rhosyn. There was no response to her name, and she appeared at first glance to be in a catatonic state. At this moment, lady Sijmen Beauregarde arrived, and I requested her to dismount Rhosyn and carry her to my office for further investigation.

Jakobus tensed as the shadow pushed himself lightly away from the wall, slowly walking to the center of the small clearing the scholar had found himself in. Surrounded by decrepit buildings, the stench of piss, and a variety of unsavoury sounds, he felt himself almost engulfed by the living, breathing creature that was the Row – not merely a region of the city. From atop several of the surrounded houses he could make out the glint of steel meeting the sunlight, and here and there the creaking of a bow held at tension and the cocking of hammers. Troublesome, indeed.

((Please be aware there is a slightly NSFW image behind the cut.))

((Please click "Read more" to see the full image.))

In a basement in Brill, behind steel doors, Jakobus paced down the isles of his laboratory, a blackboard closeby. Occasionally, he glanced at his scribblings; endless rows of formulae incomprehensible to any but him. He ran a hand through his golden hair, the ring on his finger catching a few of them – the light pain as the hairs were pulled from their nooks in his scalp barely registered. Self-activating behaviors, Jakobus mused, before snarling at his own lack of focus and returning to staring at the board. It all added up. It was correct. It had to be.

Standing upon the hill, overseeing his Mindscape, Jakobus narrowed his eyes in tense anticipation for what he would have to do. Decades of work would be risked; his very sanity lay in the balance. Perhaps tonight, he would not return to Aedran. Perhaps he would finally overstep his abilities, cracks and tears slowly laying waste to his very mind. Necessity, he mused, may be the mother of invention, but it is the sister of destruction.

"You women worry too much", the scholar spoke in response to the leatherclad woman’s request. He leaned in to kiss the pout off her face, but the woman leaned back, her hand against his chest as she held him at a distance. “"You women, eh? Way t' trivialize it, Jakobus. Fuck you. We's right” she accused, angrily. Surprised by the strong reaction, Jakobus leaned back, taking in Aedran’s copper-colored hair: “I know my limits, love” he responded, pausing for a moment before adding:  “Trust me – I will be alright”. Clearly, Aedran was not convinced, weeks of held-back concern coming out in one sharp, snorted response: “Whate'er y' say. So when y' stop breathin' in th' night an' I think fer 'alf a secon' y' might be dead, I'll jest tell m'self it ain't no big deal an' put m' pretty li'l 'ead right back down on th' pillow.”

((Common practice on Haven appears to be to write the response to letters received in-character as a comment on the post itself. Once I wrote it, however, I noted that its sheer size likely warranted a seperate post. I apologize if this offends anyone's delicate sensibilities.

This post is in response to the letter found here. ))

In a basement in Brill, a lock hummed as Jakobus lay his palm against the small metal plate mounted on the wall and released a small amount of his mana into it. With a theatrical hiss, the door slid open, revealing the well-equipped laboratory beyond. With determined strides the scholar walked in, surveying the room.

The small, white creature squirmed in his iron grip, razor sharp buck teeth trying to find the scholar's fingers as the needle approached its soft belly. It squeaked in rage as the needle sunk in and the plunger pressed down, sending the mixture into its veins. It ran around frantically in its cage, as it was replaced, the ticking of the stopwatch only worsening its nervousness. The scholar's eyes were on it, waiting patiently, his muscles tense. Minute after minute ticked away as the mouse calmed down. Five minutes - something should be happening, by now. Six. Seven. Eight.

((This post may be NSFW due to the mention of some parts of the female anatomy. Additionally, fair warning that this post may cause mild offense in some. Read at your own discretion.))

Birdsong, he mused, is not all it is cracked up to be. Certainly, to us dumb humanoids, it sounds like a lovely little melody, but to these animals it is anything but play. Such were his thoughts as he awoke in the large bed in his room in the Wayfarer's Rest. It was a late morning – he'd had the luxury of sleeping in, until the birds and laughter of some children outside had woken him. He slid out of the bed, and walked over to his opened briefcase on the table. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, as he produced the syringe, noting his dilated pupils. He was pushing himself too hard, the formula was not good enough yet. He sighed as energy rushed through his veins, and sent electric shocks of activity through the synapses in his head.

He woke, as he always did when he determined he would. It was as if there was a tiny, gnomish alarm clock in his head, waking him up. A light fog swirled in his head, obstructing his valuable thoughts as wakefulness came to him. A warm form was splayed heavily over him, the girl's coppery hair tickling his nostrils as she snored softly. He ran his hand over her naked back, and smiled, his eyes at the ceiling. "No drugs this time, no studies. I want this just to be for us" she had said, after her almost comedic bout of rage where she had threatened to leave. It would have been comedic, but somehow, he had not been able to see the humor in it. He pulled his arm tighter around her sleeping form, pressing her against him as he brought his lips to the top of her head. She was delightful - a vivid and complex mental life mixed with a lifetime of hardship.

“In the corner, please. And -please- watch out for the device” Jakobus instructed the skeletal crew as they carried the large desk through his laboratory into his office. For a moment, his heart seemed to stop and time seemed to slow down, when one of their elbows came precariously close to knocking over Doc Melanim's device. Aside from its value, which was certainly significant, such an event would set back his research for weeks; his only sample was loaded into the device. “Thank you. No, that will be all. You know the way out, hm?” the scholar spoke, handing both the workers a small purse of silvers. No sense in overpaying the Forsaken – they would just waste it gambling away, fine food and drink wasted on their bodies. Making a mental note to inquire about this with Melanim, Jakobus surveyed his laboratory.

Session report:
Subject changed her mind on the matter of experimenting with the recent narcotic discovery. Her demeanor conveyed the recklessness of a scorned, troubled woman who had recently gone through an episode high in affect, potentially traumatic. Her inclination toward the immediate fulfillment of her decision indicated a deeply troubled state. Where before, any advances made on her had been met with outright hostility, this time they were almost welcomed. Another indicator towards an uncaring attitude – a woman with nothing to lose, in her mind.

15.1 Bloodthistle [Narcotic]
Usual method of administration: Oral, smoked
Common form: Dried leaves / mixture of dried leaves
Possible effects: Dissociative episodes, euphoria, relaxed inhibitions, altered perception of one's own body, increased emotionality.
Medical uses: Pain relief, anticonvulsant
Effect of overdose: Prolonged psychotic states, insomnia, heart cessation, watery eyes.

15.1.2 Bloodthistle, Concentrate [Narcotic]
Method of preparation: Bloodthistle leaves were soaked in a mixture of hot water with acids obtained from the rumen.

15.1.2.1 Bloodthistle, Concentrate [Narcotic] - 5:1 mixture
Preparation: Leaves were soaked for a week, in a 5:1 mixture of hot water and acid, resulting liquid was evaporated until a syrupy residue remained.

In Brill, a landlord eagerly counted the coins he had just earned. "A private basement", the man had required. Hah! He had many of those available, the damp soil of Brill not providing much in the sense of living arrangements as it seemed to creep through the walls of every basement. Unfurnished, but bringing in the table, desk and bookcase as he'd been asked to had been easy. Sure, the guy had seemed sketchy, but Fel knows it was hard enough to make a decent living without holding his tenants up to any standards. And besides, he knew from experience a book should not be judged by its cover - this rotting body of his did little to resemble his own inner workings. Still, the black-cloaked man, the hood drawn over his face so only the bottom of his short goatee was visible, disconcerted him. Better leave him alone.