Orsa was halfway between thanks and frantic bows of respect, silencing himself each time Mendoza spoke again. He had his approval in those first words, despite the thin branch his king chose to dangle that praise on. A proper study, for such a hellish art as his... The cursed vitamancers of old would have wept at the prospect of such. He knew he was no fool to take these broken kingdoms as a sign of changing times. "It is the greatest honor, to have even been considered an addition to your ranks. Let alone the gift of a scholar's reprive. I'll build for you the beasts that will win your war for you, with the corpses of your enemies this coming battle should you desire." A hand to his chest, he dipped onto his knee again, however brief. Long dark hair strewn about and face contorted in a restrained look of joy. He was truly a mess, collapsing under the weight of relief now that the strings of his deadline were cut.<br/><br/>The hand on his shoulder pulled him a little closer to reality, and with that he was left alone with the beast and whoever was given the task of seeing him to his new quarters. Before he let himself be escorted, Orsa prowled about the monster as before, this time daring to step into it's cage close enough to put the cowering sack of bones out of commission. For now, at least, it would sleep. Dead until he wished it otherwise, if not stripped for parts first.<br/><br/>Limbs unshackled and mangled body carted back to his makeshift workshop, he awarded himself with a much needed break, slumping down into a chair to stare at it with something more somber. His hands were sore, his eyes felt heavy, his body suffered from a strong chill that any vitamancer learned to tolerate as they fought to harness the power they needed to fuel their creations. He was not unlike a corpse himself in that regard, willowy and cold to the touch. Perhaps it was a night in a proper bed and a read through an old book he needed to warm himself up.<br/><br/>It took little time to carry his things upstairs, content with doing a lot of the lifting himself. It was no different from when he was working on the beast. Could it have been that Orsa worried the help of others would come at a detriment? Who else was so well versed piecing together bones, just as he trusted few to handle these fragile books. Assistants were useful in managing tools or serving as spare sets of eyes at most, or showing him through a door as he scrambled to keep his tomes stacked high.<br/><br/>"I don't suppose you would know which hour his majesty typically sends his orders?" Orsa shared as a quick chat with whoever saw fit to reply, before he'd be left to his own devices, or if. Even if no one wished to talk to a man such as him, he continued, "Not that it truly matters, necromancers are creatures of the night." He uttered a creaking laugh. The notion of being called a necromancer had grown less and less insulting  the more he distanced himself from his own lineage. Perhaps it would be a title he'd give merit during his service. "His whims seem sporadic, and his reasons unclear... A smart trait for an aristocrat with so much power and potential." Now that he was in the vicinity of a court again, after his years spent running from the ruins of Campona, he couldn't help but ponder. A king without a fiance, something even the last era's dukes would drop their jaws at. The conventions of heirs probably meant little to someone with such controversial origins. This was just one of the wealth of questions that bordered the cluttered thoughts in his head. "Just how much is my presence to be kept a secret..." These words were quiet as Orsa more blatantly talked to himself, muttering and mumbling as he made his rounds about the room and what might just be a more permanent residence. It wasn't as extravagant as what he romanticized in his memories as a child, though it was easy to guess that the interiors closer to the king were increasingly so.