Nanna
New Arrival
Posts: 15
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Post by Nanna on Jan 8, 2007 20:28:13 GMT -5
As Annalira reads from the book, I amuse myself by looking around her home. Not wanting to be be rude, however, I do not feel I can get up and peer at the things that catch my eye. Instead, I try to calm the excitement that threatens to rise within me.
I understand that I will have to learn to talk, much as a child does, I presume. Still, I am hopeful that, because I can still hear, I will be able to modulate my new-found voice, and pracitce when I am alone.
No. I must not expect to be healed. How great the disappointment if this does not work! No, I must expect that, like all healers and mages before her, the mystery of that pipsqueak's actions will remain my personal burden.
All the same, when Annalira rises and hurries into her cabinet, and begins to throw herbs into some kind of pot, my body betrays my mind's intentions; my pulse quickens, heart thumping like the vibrations from the troll's sacrifical celebrations.
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Post by Annalira Delshannon on Jan 9, 2007 14:43:29 GMT -5
((sorry things have been so sporadic - I'm in and out of various internet capable places and getting ready for this wedding business!))
Not too many minutes later the bowl in the ashes begins to bubble and the liquid inside turns a deep honey-red color. Straining it quickly through a bit of cloth into a smaller bowl, I let it sit to cool.
“Alright – here’s what I’m thinking. We need to loosen the hold of this immobilization spell on your vocal cords enough that I can get in a counterspell. I’m not overly fluent in mage spells, but I’ve learned enough about the Shadow Arts to know how a full blown Silence spell should work. Hopefully the general jist of that, sung so that it’s going to cancel a spell rather than silence a caster, will be enough to get your vocal cords moving again.”
“This infusion is made from herbs that are usually used to enhance Frost power – but rather than combining them to do that, I’ve added in healing herbs and herbs that will hopefully manipulate and loosen the fraying edges of the spell in your throat. Hopefully this mage was none to neat in tying up after the spell – most aren’t – and I can get it to break down enough to dismember it.”
“This will probably have an odd taste – cold and warm at the same time, but it won’t burn you or harm you. I want you to take a sip and let it sit in your mouth for a moment, and then swallow it… First time I’m just going to lay my hand on the side of your jaw and neck, like this, and see what happens.”
Nannette looks up at me nervously and then peers into the liquid infusion. Nodding, she picks it up to take a sip, allowing me to place my right hand on the side of her jaw. With a quick prayer that the training and practice I’ve had won’t fail me now, I open myself to the flows of light – sending little feelers into the wounded woman’s throat, hoping to find spell residue and the fading edges of a mage’s work from years ago. Softly, I begin to sing.
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Nanna
New Arrival
Posts: 15
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Post by Nanna on Jan 22, 2007 15:21:30 GMT -5
She is right about the taste, but rather than warm and cool, it is hot and cold, like when ice burns your fingers. Except instead of my fingers, it freezes my mouth and throat and slides down, numbing as it goes. It doesn't hurt. I expect it to, despite her reassurances. Medics always tell you it won't hurt.
Wait. Annalira's fingers are on my throat, and the heat fades to warmth. The biting chill fades to coolness. She is singing a soothing melody, and as my shoulders slump, I realize I am wound up and tense. I try to force myself to relax.
My ears pop. That is unexpected. Something is happening at the back of my throat. A tickle? Like an itch. Again forcing myself to relax, I unclench my jaws and take a deep breath. My tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth, and I make the effort to draw it down.
I let Annalira's voice soothe my nervousness.
I try not to hope.
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Post by Annalira Delshannon on Jan 22, 2007 17:01:06 GMT -5
Surprisingly, the edges of the spell are still present and their ends are obvious. Typical young mage, to be hasty with a solution, but with little care for it's undoing. Nanette tenses - then relaxes, which is good. This will be easier if she's not adding any tension to the area where this spell is holding fast.
Under my fingers I find that the infusion is working - smoothly, slowly, the strands of spellwork begin to wiggle and slip along each other. Then, as if congealing, they work their way back into place and are firm again.
Nanette swallows, opening her eyes to peer at me as I take my hand off her jaw.
"Well, there's good news and bad news. The good news is - it will work. The bad news is, I have to be quick about it. The infusion only seems to work for about a minute, or just a bit more - but it is working. The mage who did this left tracks to how he tied off the spell ends, and the infusion is loosening the whole mess quite nicely."
"I want you to take a little bigger swallow this time, and hopefully by the time it wears off, I'll have that spell taken to pieces. It's not the most complicated bit of work I've had to unravel, that's for sure, but I don't want to rush either."
Slowly, she picks up the bowl and takes another sip of the herbs.
Placing my hands along either side of her jaw, I sing again - allowing the song and the light to let me see in my hands the various pieces of spellthread. The infusion works - again - and the threads loosen and slide easily along one another. Carefully, so as not to cause a tangle in the net of threads, I send a push of Light through my finger tips, loosening the woven bits of arcane and frost magic. It IS a frost ridden spell at its, and almost immediately it begins to try to refreeze, but an altered silencing spell stops it.
Almost immediately afterwards, the entire remaining threads fall apart. Light surges through my hands and I can feel the healing take hold and begin to mend the long-silenced vocal cords.
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Nanna
New Arrival
Posts: 15
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Post by Nanna on Feb 2, 2007 23:25:02 GMT -5
Warmth floods my neck and throat so quickly, I slap my hand to the area, thinking my throat slit and oozing my heart's blood. I do not feel a wound, however, and my hand comes away clean. My head whips to Annalira's face. Is it done? Did she do it? She does not say, but the expression in her eyes speak of satisfaction.
Is it my turn, then, I wonder? Am I suposed to let her know if it worked? The only way to do that would be to speak, of course. If I can.
My thoughts prepare a thank-you speech, praising her vision, wisdom, and persistence. I would tell her of the joy she has brought me, of my new freedom juxtiposed deliciously with a new found bond to community and friends. I open my mouth, and, as I have practised in front of the mirror, blow air through my lips.
"Aaaaahhhhh-"
Horrified, I stop and clamp my jaws together. Sound, yes, but that was not speech! That is not what was in my head. How did it come out of my mouth? I wonder if I tried too much at once. I prepare a somewhat shorter dialogue.
"Ooooooooooh-!"
I slap my hand over my mouth. This will not do at all! Silence is one thing. Sounding like the drooling idiot begging for coin in the tunnels of Shattrath is something else entirely.
The woman was right- I shall need practice with my new skill. I have a few ideas on how to get it, but first, Annalira deserves proper thanks. This miracle worker deserves more profuse thanks than I can give her, but I am also ashamed of my lack of control. Any toddler can speak, and I've been listening to people speak for two decades!
I grab the ink and paper our prior conversation had taken place on, and quickly scrawl as effusive a thank you as I can, though I am not thinking very coherently. Thoughts tumble around, solutions trying to present themselves, intermingled with shame and horror at my clumsy initial vocalizations.
As I straighten from the paper, my impulse is to lay my fortune at her feet- every gold I have saved. She deserves it, surely. But would a healer find that offensive? To be paid for religious work? I can't think about that now, and decide she at least should be reimbursed for the reagents she used. I throw a bag of gold on the counter, and bowing hastily, run out the door.
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