Post by K'elevas the Potent . on Dec 2, 2012 14:52:15 GMT -8
The prestigious seat of all magic in Skyrim, the College of Winterhold, stood perched upon a jagged uprising of rock separated from the mainland of the Winterhold region. Various masons and workers had constructed the castle-like building that now housed numerous mages from every sentient race of Skyrim; from noble Elves to Orcs and Khajiit, those gifted in magicka and seeking to learn more found themselves drawn into the stone walls and shielded by the towering spires and glass panes of intricate design. The cold breeze from the high altitude would occasionally waft through cracks in the mortar or through an ajar window, that had been opened to air out any accidents caused by a student that wasn’t actually focused on their spell casting.
These mages wandered about the halls, pulling books down from the numerous shelves, finding meals in one of the halls or listening to lectures being presented by one of the many professors on the campus. Most needs were met, though a journey down to the city might be necessary for finding a specific tool from time to time; sitting at a respectable, albeit make-shift, alchemical table in a corner towards the main entrance of the college was the Khajiit K’elevas. Sat entranced by the various chemicals and ingredients that were laid out before him; the orange-red tint of his fur making him distinct amongst most of the other khajiit, whom typically blended in with the baser colors of the snow and grey slate.
Lifting one hand, an ostensibly dangerous liquid arouse, the Khajiit’s yellow-green eyes gazed over the flask in hand, the glass work housing a bubbling blue liquid with a bright pink nexus. It swirled awkwardly for a moment, as if trying to churn the very pot that it rested in; only to settle down. Gazing at the liquid once more, K’elevas would set it back down on a tiny metal-work stand; allowing the concoction to rest over a low flame. Raising his hand once again, K’elevas would flick his wrist and press his hand gently forward; a tingle emerged as he felt the essence of magicka in himself wane slightly, the feeling of retreat from his body a bitter-sweet melody that sang to him in ways that he could hardly understand.
That feeling continued to consummate upon itself though, the multiplying effect of magicka usage folding over and over before his eyes at the palm of his hand. It had taken him years to understand what was happening, but he knew that it was simply an overlaying of energy. All of it taking place in the briefest of seconds and simple as that, a floating ball of light emerged over the desk he was sitting at. Pulling at his quill and grasping a dark-red inkwell from nearby, he began to scrawl down his notes from the recent experiment; recording the results carefully as he looked over his shoulder. A few mages were playing with a chicken that they had managed to corner inside of the building; each of them taking turns launching electrical bolts at its feet in order to cajole the creature back towards the center of their little circle. A childish game, but one that K’elevas wanted to join in on as well. Maybe it was a desire for acceptance or maybe it was because he had been sitting in front of his alchemy set for four hours already; regardless, he found the desire to focus on his studies waning every second he heard the crackle of lightening nearby.
Shaking his head, K’elevas would redouble his efforts and begin to write, the Khajiit’s face contorting into an almost depressive grimace as he recorded his thoughts.
K’elevas has found that the most egregiously foul ingredients in Skyrim, make for very interesting potions when combined. It confuses K’elevas to find that a combination of Imp Stool, Giant Toejam, Rotten Eggs and Orc earwax can be used to form a very interesting ichor. This paste when liquidized over a low flame, will create a pale-blue potion with a pink center; when the pink center begins to radiate, applying a electrical discharge through it will stabilize the fluid, creating a potion that acts as a catalyst for near eidetic memory for some two hours following ingestion. My peer and test subject has seen an increase in marks, popularity and success in spell-casting since regular ingestion; professors recently found out about it though and have banned its usage by students. A shame considering, K’elevas could sell it for whatever K’elevas wanted. No one else knows how to make it. Many customers complain about taste though, exclaiming that it was like licking the ass of musk ox. Nords were the most rancorous about this, their hatred for the taste repulsed them from buying more, despite the effects; K’elevas believes that is a direct result of racial hatreds and distrust of magicka. More experiments required, possibly the introduction of fruit juices or milk to disguise the taste. – K’elevas the Potent.
Finishing the note with a fashioned scrawl of a signature; the Khajiit arose and found that younger mages having grown board with their game of zapping the chicken, were now kicking the creature around with their booted feet. The poor bird was flapping its wings in horror; however, before he could say anything, one of the instructors hurriedly broken up the rag-tag bunch. Sending them off to their rooms before muttering something about a Jarl soon to be arriving at Winterhold, K’elevas would only blink at the news as a sly grin came to his features.
“Jarls carry many shineys,” he said to himself slyly and in a near silent tone as he began to tap his fingers together, “K’elevas shall….take much care with this Jarl, perhaps he will have a few shineys to drop into K’elevas’s coffers.”
These mages wandered about the halls, pulling books down from the numerous shelves, finding meals in one of the halls or listening to lectures being presented by one of the many professors on the campus. Most needs were met, though a journey down to the city might be necessary for finding a specific tool from time to time; sitting at a respectable, albeit make-shift, alchemical table in a corner towards the main entrance of the college was the Khajiit K’elevas. Sat entranced by the various chemicals and ingredients that were laid out before him; the orange-red tint of his fur making him distinct amongst most of the other khajiit, whom typically blended in with the baser colors of the snow and grey slate.
Lifting one hand, an ostensibly dangerous liquid arouse, the Khajiit’s yellow-green eyes gazed over the flask in hand, the glass work housing a bubbling blue liquid with a bright pink nexus. It swirled awkwardly for a moment, as if trying to churn the very pot that it rested in; only to settle down. Gazing at the liquid once more, K’elevas would set it back down on a tiny metal-work stand; allowing the concoction to rest over a low flame. Raising his hand once again, K’elevas would flick his wrist and press his hand gently forward; a tingle emerged as he felt the essence of magicka in himself wane slightly, the feeling of retreat from his body a bitter-sweet melody that sang to him in ways that he could hardly understand.
That feeling continued to consummate upon itself though, the multiplying effect of magicka usage folding over and over before his eyes at the palm of his hand. It had taken him years to understand what was happening, but he knew that it was simply an overlaying of energy. All of it taking place in the briefest of seconds and simple as that, a floating ball of light emerged over the desk he was sitting at. Pulling at his quill and grasping a dark-red inkwell from nearby, he began to scrawl down his notes from the recent experiment; recording the results carefully as he looked over his shoulder. A few mages were playing with a chicken that they had managed to corner inside of the building; each of them taking turns launching electrical bolts at its feet in order to cajole the creature back towards the center of their little circle. A childish game, but one that K’elevas wanted to join in on as well. Maybe it was a desire for acceptance or maybe it was because he had been sitting in front of his alchemy set for four hours already; regardless, he found the desire to focus on his studies waning every second he heard the crackle of lightening nearby.
Shaking his head, K’elevas would redouble his efforts and begin to write, the Khajiit’s face contorting into an almost depressive grimace as he recorded his thoughts.
K’elevas has found that the most egregiously foul ingredients in Skyrim, make for very interesting potions when combined. It confuses K’elevas to find that a combination of Imp Stool, Giant Toejam, Rotten Eggs and Orc earwax can be used to form a very interesting ichor. This paste when liquidized over a low flame, will create a pale-blue potion with a pink center; when the pink center begins to radiate, applying a electrical discharge through it will stabilize the fluid, creating a potion that acts as a catalyst for near eidetic memory for some two hours following ingestion. My peer and test subject has seen an increase in marks, popularity and success in spell-casting since regular ingestion; professors recently found out about it though and have banned its usage by students. A shame considering, K’elevas could sell it for whatever K’elevas wanted. No one else knows how to make it. Many customers complain about taste though, exclaiming that it was like licking the ass of musk ox. Nords were the most rancorous about this, their hatred for the taste repulsed them from buying more, despite the effects; K’elevas believes that is a direct result of racial hatreds and distrust of magicka. More experiments required, possibly the introduction of fruit juices or milk to disguise the taste. – K’elevas the Potent.
Finishing the note with a fashioned scrawl of a signature; the Khajiit arose and found that younger mages having grown board with their game of zapping the chicken, were now kicking the creature around with their booted feet. The poor bird was flapping its wings in horror; however, before he could say anything, one of the instructors hurriedly broken up the rag-tag bunch. Sending them off to their rooms before muttering something about a Jarl soon to be arriving at Winterhold, K’elevas would only blink at the news as a sly grin came to his features.
“Jarls carry many shineys,” he said to himself slyly and in a near silent tone as he began to tap his fingers together, “K’elevas shall….take much care with this Jarl, perhaps he will have a few shineys to drop into K’elevas’s coffers.”