[ Harnessing dark magicks and breathing life into the dead—that, Lux knows, is the stuff they warn you about in every Demacian textbook and tome. It’ll split your soul asunder, they say, or warp your body beyond recognition. It’ll get you hauled off to jail, where they’ll have you wash down your daily meal with a tall glass of liquid petricite. It’s disgusting, it’s vile, it’s plain bad. No self-respecting Demacian would abide by it.
Except this one. Lux ventures a step closer to Harrowhark, muscles stiff with apprehension. ]
You don’t, uh—you don’t get in trouble for doing that, do you?
[ You know, the whole ‘enspelling the dead’ thing. ]
ii
Except this one. Lux ventures a step closer to Harrowhark, muscles stiff with apprehension. ]
You don’t, uh—you don’t get in trouble for doing that, do you?
[ You know, the whole ‘enspelling the dead’ thing. ]