<div class="floatleft">(https://pro2-bar-s3-cdn-cf6.myportfolio.com/acfc487f628999a8d795fd4e0bac95b4/7144f155-86a7-460e-be3c-29249aa92920_rw_1920.jpg?h=751cf9fdab3ea959a3579c38026e854e)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Valerian Izyumov  (http://url=https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=324631.msg15584949#msg15584949)<br/><strong>OOC Timeline:</strong>Round one of actions<br/><strong>Where:</strong>Guild District, Exhibition Hall<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Part science, part exposé<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Nil<br/><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">Dear Sir / Madam / Gentleperson:<br/><br/>You are cordially invited to witness a <strong>scientific demonstration</strong> into the previously undocumented phenomenon of <strong>corporeal corruption induced by sustained magical exposure</strong>. Given the <strong>uncompromising and confrontational</strong> application of natural history that will take place, those of delicate constitution or disposition are advised not to attend.<br/>  <br/>The main event will comprise of a <strong>full craniotomy</strong>, encompassing the posthumous participation of the late <strong>Lord Hirdash the Fourth</strong>, magical healer extraordinaire. Barber-surgeon duties will be performed by famed adventurer <strong>Valerian Izyumov</strong>. Attendees are encouraged to place <strong>hefty wagers</strong> on whether the latter’s hypothesis proves true. Canapes and cocktails will be provided. Details are as follow…<br/></span><br/><hr/><br/>“My unlikely friend…” Valerian murmured, turning the glass jar over in his hands. The stout dwarven head within swirled around, spinning peacefully through its briny fluid until the face came into view. It was strange to think how indebted his was to a disembodied head, even one that belonged to a spellcaster like Lord Hirdash. When Valerian first made his public announcement urging that magic be outlawed, the city’s elite had decided they didn’t like having their feathers ruffled, and had promptly set about striking his words from their records and memories. His political cause had come within an inch of being snuffed out before it had even started, and Valerian was all but packing his bags when his unexpected lifeline arrived: the body of a famous mage, preserved in a salt-filled coffin, and a detailed note indicating that the body was to be used for his ‘investigations’. Suddenly, he had a second chance.<br/><br/>Hefting the glass jar, Valerian took a breath, and steeled himself to leave the sanctuary of the antechamber. As he pushed open the heavy doors to the exhibition hall, a hundred eyes turned to regard him (and granted, a disproportionate amount belonged to multi-eyed Arachne, but it was still an imposing number). Valerian took up position at the head of the grand table that dominated the room. Everything had already been laid out: gleaming tools, rubber mats, and silver trays. With as much reverence as he could muster for his deceased patron, Valerian lifted the severed head from its jar, placed it upon a mat, and with the aid of a steel saw he began to cut along the scalp.<br/><br/>“Magic is wellspring of unknown provenance,” he called out, projecting his voice across the echoing hall, “gift with unseen strings attached, yes? We draw upon it endlessly, never really knowing where it comes from, or what long shadows it casts.”<br/><br/>Things had gone well so far. For starters, most of the invitees had deigned to attend. Valerian had not repeated his previous mistake of addressing the largest gathering possible… no, this time he had picked his audience carefully. Merchants and bankers. Artificers and physicians. Druids, landowners, investors. Pragmatists who viewed dire warnings as valuable information, not unwelcome intrusions.<br/><br/>“I say before that magic is evil, but words fell on deaf ears. Perhaps my fault. I speak too quickly, too hollow, without bringing proper evidence. I hope that account of a master wizard will prove more compelling.”<br/><br/>The audience regarded him in steely silence. They had been receptive enough during the preliminary reports earlier in the evening, but everyone knew those were merely warm-up acts. Having made grand claims that magic caused corruption, Valerian had staked everything on the autopsy he was now performing. He continued to saw, letting the grinding hum of the serrated blade fill the air between his words.<br/><br/>“As you all know, Lord Hirdash lived extraordinarily long life, even by the standard of dwarves. Magic played key part in this, but too late, he realised terrible truth: magic does not heal. Not really. It only cannibalises, borrows, move things around without ever creating. In the end, Lord Hirdash was poisoned by very remedy that was supposed to sustain him. His final request was that his body be autopsied before an audience of esteemed, influential citizens, so that the true consequence of magic could be known. Within his preserved remains, we will find proof.”<br/><br/>The cutting stopped. Valerian lifted away the scalp, and stared wordlessly at the deceased’s brain within its severed skull.<br/><br/>“Ladies, gentlemen,” he said at last, “esteemed guests… I present the brain of Lord Hirdash the Fourth.”<br/><br/>He tipped the severed head forward, exposing the contents to the audience’s inspection. As it turned out, all the lamps and magnifying lenses assembled on the table’s length were quite unnecessary. Even from the far end, there was no mistaking the blackened lumps and twisted webs of renegade arteries that despoiled the once-brilliant mind.<br/><br/>“Lesions of the brain,” Valerian shouted over the ensuing humdrum, “caused by the long years of magic!”<br/><br/>The audience were no longer containing themselves. Disbelief, triumph, fear, anger, satisfaction… raw emotions crashed together as multiple spectators tried to shout over one another.<br/>“Outrageous! This is too much!”<br/>“Good gods man, the proof is right there…”<br/>“Let's not be hasty, now.”<br/>“Awful, simply awful…”<br/>“Anything could have caused those!”<br/><br/>The remaining chatter was cut short by the thunderous impact of a fist slamming the table. There was the scrape of an oversized chair being pushed back, and a wizened luxodon – the one who had agreed to host the event – rose to her feet.<br/><br/>“How do we know those lesions have anything to do with magic?”<br/><br/>It was equal parts question and demand. Valerian didn’t falter:<br/><br/>“Lord Hirdash was master of the healing arts," he replied, his tone level. “He could dispel illness and rejuvenate aging bones with pass of a hand, and yet he could not cure himself of this ailment. There is only one explanation: magic didn’t work on the lesions… because magic was the cause.”<br/><br/>The audience began murmuring among themselves again, but quieter. A ripple passed over the room. Expressions darkened, or otherwise grew calculating. It wasn’t conclusive proof, not even close… but it lent some credibility to Valerian's previously wild claims, and there was now cause for early concern. The future of magic suddenly had a faint spectre of uncertainty hanging over it.<br/><br/>“This is only tip of iceberg,” Valerian declared, “only one chip of the mountain beneath our feet. Take it from one who has seen true horror. In time, there will be more proof. Until then? No precaution is too much, not until we certain one way or other. We must. Take. Action.”<br/><br/>The were yet another wave of murmurs, but once again the mood had shifted subtly. Alarm, resignation, concern, the occasional fleck of opportunism. A current that would grow into a maelstrom, Valerian hoped. Embers that would grow into a cleaning firestorm.<br/>