𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐒𝐧 π’πžπ©π­π’π¦ ([personal profile] septim) wrote in [community profile] exsiliumlogs 2012-03-04 09:03 pm (UTC)

Martin's combat magic is fine. Even after all these years, the School of Destruction, especially fire, come too easily to him, stirring a craving for power and destruction he'd rather leave buried. His maelstrom of fire and frost in front of the child called Martin (just like him) proved that he wasn't over his baser instincts just yet.

Incisions and extractions aren't difficult for Martin's steady hand. He inhales and exhales in a methodical rhythm, the cuts clean and straight, to minimize scarring, as Watson taught him. The cylinder, as Martin knows they are, is removed swiftly, the wound is cleaned, stitchedβ€”as the body should work as much as it can on its ownβ€”and then washed with a wave of restoration to ease the soreness around the tissue.

Too caught up in post-surgery care, Martin loses track of the chip's whereabouts until Anders voices his displeasure against the Masked, obliterating the chip with a stomp.

"No!" Martin screams, too late. He stares at Anders in wide-eyed disbelief, and then growls in annoyance. "Now they know we removed it..." And he isn't exactly sure, but suspects, what's to come next.

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