Chapter B5: Endless Study
It was pleasant to exchange words with his students, who had grown into serviceable mages. Having someone to discuss the principles of Necromancy with, even at a surface level, was something he found enjoyable.
The problem he had with these conversations was that the three students were far too willing to accept anything he said as the best solution, or the optimal method, without proper examination. Did he expect them to come up with better solutions than he did? No, obviously. That didn’t mean he wasn’t expecting them to try.
He’d reworked his own techniques as spellforms dozens of times over at this point, and he would change them again in the future. Tyron considered himself far from infallible.
“We can’t see what’s wrong, but if there is something, we assume you’ll fix it,” Briss had told him bluntly during one discussion. It was disappointing, but perhaps he was expecting too much from them.
Tyron had been taught the principles of magick by one of the best Battle Mages the province had ever seen from a young age. On top of that, he’d been a Necromancer for far longer than they had. It was unlikely they’d be able to equal his knowledge of theory and principles any time soon.
With more students studying Necromancy, he hoped that at least some of them would come to challenge his ideas. Sitting in a room full of people who agreed with you was far less edifying than he might have expected.
Exposing them to the work of Ahrinan the Black would at least give them a chance to examine an alternative approach. From what Tyron had read from those volumes, there were significant differences between the Necromancy he himself had developed and that of the old lich. The magick he’d read had been powerful, to be sure, but lacked a certain… elegance. Still, he was certain there were valuable nuggets hiding in the writings that could be adapted to his own practices.
Tyron sighed as he finally stepped into his own chambers for the first time in months. Someone had been keeping it clean, which was a nice touch. He’d half expected to return to find the furnishings covered in dust.
The room was simple, which was to be expected, given their situation. A crude bed had been pushed against the wall, the mattress stuffed with dried straw. For someone with his absurdly robust constitution, he could comfortably sleep on the floor, but others had insisted he be given something more.