[h3][color=bedded][b][center] Thomas Richard Harrison [/center][/b][/color][/h3]
[center][indent][color=bedded][i]Location:[/i][/color] The Crossed Swords, Chilly Morning.
[color=bedded][i]Interacting with:[/i][/color] No one in particular yet. [/indent][/center]
[i]
Into falling Night,
Darkness closing soon,
Cosmos burning Bright
Waxing of the Moon,
And as the Hours wane,
Stars return again.

Such Visions in Sight,
What Fate sleeps on high,
Fear Prophecy's Might,
And maybe ask why,
And as the Hours pass,
Does the silence Last?

Rise shattered Twilight,
With Dawn the Day breaks,
Morning comes first Light,
Sun itself Awakes,
And as the Hour ticks,
What is broken: Fix.
[/i]

The morning hours were rather chilling, a cold stiffness to awakening. Thomas had woken to redress himself, breaking meditation cycles for a moment to find check the presence of light. A good astrologist keeps his eyes to the sky, although with his broken timekeeper, it was difficult to keep track of the celestial movements. A broken magical device, practically useless even with his attempts to fix the clockwork mechanisms, what spare hours he had with Master Wolfgang probably lead to further deterioration of the machine. Supposedly it was a tool to chart every celestial object, a relic from Wolfgang's adventuring days taken from an observatory of a heretical cultist. It used to project all the stars in the sky to where they ought to be, attuning itself to every plane of existence all at once. And yet, its workings were beyond Thomas though some mechanic might have better luck. An artificer maybe.

Still with a few casts of his void spell, roughly five for the day, the young sorcerer felt satisfied with his preparation. It was strange really, he expected them to have at least one minor encounter in the night. He was certain they were due for some company, but perhaps, just perhaps, the dark stars smiled upon them and sent not misfortune upon their own kin. Maybe it was their dwindling party size, perhaps Ntaj was taken already, oh poor Ntaj. Thomas had hoped the orcish fellow was well, but it didn't seem he returned. From the large party of seven or eight, they had systematically been reduced, everyone disappearing and Thomas just barely knew them. Ntaj was a bit different though, he tried to make an effort to get to know the orcblood. Then again Thomas had no real reason to stay on save for perhaps doing right by Sana and redeeming himself in her eyes. If that was even possible given Kyra and Keystone and Sana seemed to be conjoined at the hip, natural party leaders who were the... Keystone pieces to hold the rag-tag crew together.

That, and the mystery of an unknown necromancer was always interesting. Who knows, if they weren't too busy trying to kill each other, maybe Thomas could take some notes and learn a thing or two about raising armies of zombies and skeletons. Purely for research of course. Well either way, it was about time to greet the morning, despite however cold and brisk it may be. Stretching out at the foot of his bed and collecting his things, Thomas ventured into the tavern area to see who was up, the dwarf, Hush-hush Kyra, Satilla. Yep, no Ntaj. With a sad sigh the boy slunked over to a chair and opened up his spellbook, reviewing the basics to sensing the nature of magic. Next time he may be of more use, and could perhaps even locate the source of the necromancy if he focused and attuned his magical senses rather than using his eyes. And he'd need to do so, given the backdraw of void spells meant temporary blindness.