“Does he always do that?”
The mumbling thing?
“YES THE MUMBLING THING WHAT ELSE WOULD I BE TALKING ABOUT?”
You’re the one talking out loud to yourself. No need to get snippy. And yes. He’s positively enraptured by this point. Good luck getting anything meaningful out of him.
The responses came from within him, in his mind to be specific… though not too specific. They weren’t voices so much as entirely formed ideas hurled into his consciousness unbidden. They weren’t images in his mind’s eye, nor disembodied aspects. They were more like… voids… distinct in their presence but lacking in any substance. From the voids came the responses and they were three in number, these voids. He had learned to identify the voids by their responses only.
It wasn’t hard.
One of them would actually form cohesive thoughts. That was Zacharias. Melkhior only mumbled incoherently, constantly, but at a low enough pulse that he could be filtered out. And their true master, their sire? W’soran slept. Uselessly. So his void was truly an emptiness.
That left Zacharias, whose ongoing narration of the Dread Master of Liches’ daily tasks, random thoughts, whims, and follies were quickly becoming a deep-seated source of irritation. Thus far, consuming the flesh of the penultimate necromancers of their age was proving more a curse than asset.
I don’t know why that should surprise you.
“You could at least make yourself useful,” the Dread Master dropped his quill and simply willed the ink in the nearby pot to flow into the air, hovering over the page, “Show me more of the Convalescence of Spheres and the Shadowfell’s place in it.” An image appeared in his mind, a diagram, basic at first but growing in complexity by the moment as slashes of color and sigils of power were written around them. He formed the ink in the air to the same image, then simply lifted the paper into it where it alit and stained perfectly. He studied the diagram for a long time.
“What of the spaces between?”
What of them?
“What are they? How do you get there? What are they made of? Who controls them? Why-”
Emperor’s Blood, slow down, Tomus. When last I investigated them, they were an abyssal void. Only the Hysh, Ulgu, even Azyr winds ruled. There might even be more but the eddies are sparse. It would take great spans of time to collect them into something useful, but therein lies the trick. Time passes quite slowly there, slowly indeed. If you were patient enough… yes I see what you’re thinking.
PUPPETS AND PORTENTS!…
They both waited to see if Melkhior would say anything else. He didn’t.
“Anyway, yes, should the world fall to Chaos we will need a suitable demesne until we can find a new realm, don’t you think?” He neither waited for an answer nor listened for one, instead setting aside the diagram and pulling another sheet of paper. “More on these gaps,” he picked up a quill, “Where am I likely to find one?”