Within his cozy little hovel in the middle of the woods, Altzmyr had taken out a sheet of paper and a metal-nibbed pen to draft lines for an argument that he would have to partake with a peer. He really needed to stress his case, not to him exactly, but to the audience that might hear their debate.
It was the argument separating immortality from...immorality. Many people, especially wizards do want immortality deep down, but many think that the price is always too steep or the gods would strike them down if so, or they will go mad, there was always this cultural fear that he had to take apart and show in the light what it really was.
As he penned the words, his skeleton familiar was knitting on a chair. Sunlight filtered through leaves and dappled the light within.
Little did Altzmyr know that someone was listening to his head. Maybe if he wasn’t so focused he would have sensed the weave.
@unfadingones
