[center][h1][color=841617]Lucan Vernier[/color][/h1][/center][right][b]Early morning, The Laboratory[/b][/right][hr][hr]
Three men surrounded a metal table, a wyvern corpse laid atop. The animal was being dissected under Lucan’s supervision while an adolescent boy stood farther apart, taking notes.

“…The pharynx and upper larynx show signs of inflammation, the tissue has degraded due to acidity…” One of the men was listing as he cut the body apart.

[color=841617]“Once you delineate the spread, let us proceed with the extraction of the gland,”[/color] Lucan instructed.

The low sounds of rote reporting, dry instructions, and furious scribbling punctuated the operation. The scalpel cut into flesh, rending apart skin, muscle, and nerves. The jaw had been cracked, the dead wyvern’s mouth hinged apart for easier access. Their prize was close, and tension mounted as its resting place was exposed. The room took a quiet, collective intake of breath when it was pried open. The silence was measured in heartbeats as the tissue was cut out, yet relief did not find them when it was withdrawn from the skull. 

They weren’t done. Not just yet.

[color=841617]“The receptacle is ready,”[/color] Lucan announced in a hushed tone.

As soon as the gland was placed in a glass jar, he tapped his metal cane against the stone floor. Thin lines lit up, a rush of light running across the floor, up the table’s legs, and onto the runes drawn on its surface, culminating at the vessel. A flash and the light was gone, the ink consumed, a miniscule drop of the retired mage’s energy expended.

[color=841617]“It is done.”[/color] At his words, a louder exhale was shared, the assistants’ postures relaxing. The gland almost seemed to pulse in its confines, the pink flesh gleaming oddly. It would retain its freshness for days longer, the decomposition staved off. That was not all; he had chained a second spell, which would diagnose and analyze its composition. Already, a pen moved across a roll of parchment with unnatural speed on a tiny wooden stand, a muted glow of arcane script animating it.

Lucan transferred the container with the gland – for it was safe to do so – to the wooden stand, then retreated to the corner of a room. Smooth stone countertops lined the area filled with alchemical contraptions of all kinds. Nearly one whole wall was taken by a walnut cabinet partitioned into multiple smaller drawers, each storing an ingredient in its appropriate container. Adjacent was a well-used preparation area where ingredients were chopped, minced, crushed or otherwise manipulated for use in remedies.

While the physicians worked on the wyvern – he didn’t need to tell them to take it all apart – Lucan prepared for his own experiments. He had both mundane and magical means available to him, and the corrupted creature would need both applied to it.

A good hour later saw him staring at glass apparatuses, dissolving the gland. First, he would get the pure concentrate of the venom they had detected within the mutated wyvern. Only could they think of poisons or antidotes. He held no illusions that the process of mutation could be undone, and yet...The possibility taunted him.

Cautious steps approached, and a soft voice called to him, “Master Lucan?”

[color=841617]“Not to you, Prince Eustace,”[/color] he turned to the boy with a smile. For the scribe had been none other than the youngest prince. He held the notebook to his chest, fingers fidgeting even as that inextinguishable spark lit up his gaze.

“Right. Sorry, Elder.” The exchange was familiar; the boy didn’t care for propriety as much as his parents wanted him to. Even the prince’s mere presence at the lab had been contested, yet his earnestness had earned him cautious permission.

“Um, I just wanted to discuss all the changes I’ve noticed with you. If that’s alright.” Lucan nodded. “Right!” The boy perked up. “The corruption – or mutation – is still developing, and it’s a fast pace of changes we’ve seen. There’s the surface changes; scale colouration, head shape, minor deformities…” As he went on listing what he’d noticed, Lucan encouraged with affirming hums and nods.

The retired mage prompted the prince with questions, challenges, even his thoughts on the future course of action. For one, the boy was a joy to teach. For other, Lucan thought of the future. A future where a member of the royal family held understanding of magic despite not being a mage. A future where such understanding led to acceptance, perhaps.

To a day where magic would not have to be shunned, but could be studied more freely, where trust was placed in regulation by law rather than exclusion, fear-mongering, or worse.

A day he wouldn’t live to see, but could dream of.
[hr][right][b]Later in the morning, Royal mage quarters[/b][/right][hr]After his forays in the laboratory, Lucan had withdrawn into his room in the mage quarters. He was in the midst of taking notes on his most recent combination of medication for the king when Aerwyn’s voice resounded through the chambers. Her voice was pitched high with excitement, one he’d not heard from her in a while.

With a musing hum, the retired mage rose from his chair, and headed to the library, whence he’d heard the call. His steps were measured, sedate; in his age, there was no reason to rush.

[color=841617]“Yes, m’dear?”[/color] He greeted, an amused smile quirking at her flabbergasted state. Noticing the letter pinched between her fingers, he came to stand by her, and beckoned for it to be handed over.

[color=841617]“Hm.”[/color] His gaze had moved across the writing swiftly, but aside the soft hum, there wasn’t much of a reaction. He handed the letter back to her, and commented, [color=841617]“I see Aethelgard enjoys its demands as much as ever.”[/color] A knowing chuckle was followed by a nod to Aerwyn. [color=841617]“Nonetheless, I have no doubt that the matter is of some urgency. You will have to get prepared.”[/color] After a beat, he added, [color=841617]“I suppose so might I.”[/color]