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"Homunculi are constructed from clay, ashes, mandrake root, spring water, the wings of a bat and one pint of the creator's own blood. The mage can either construct them himself, or have someone do it for them. The resulting minion is used to do such things as spying, messenging, scouting, guarding the mage's study, providing company, and such. Though they can only do most of these tasks to a mediocre level, and the creature itself has little instinct and personality, there seems to be a bond between them and whoever gave the blood to create them. The creature prefers not to go more than a few miles from the blood donor, knows anything that they know, both see and hear anything which the other does, and so on. If a homunculus is slain, the blood donor will take damage. If the master is slain, the homunculus dies. Homunculi do whatever their master says without questioning and always try to return for more orders."
From "Creations of the Arcane, Explained", by Mage Eck Mysile
The young half-elf all but ran towards the Oghma temple in her excitement. Today was the day! Her very own familiar, created with her own hands and answering her every wish. Her own little personal assistant.
All the ingredients were in a small backpack: clay, ashes, mandrake root, spring water, and a set of large bat wings that she had found in a pile of refuse (all the better, not having to kill one of the creatures for it) - they must be from one of those beautiful, large fruit bats that looked more like cute little dogs than the ugly night time hunters.
Her new little friend would be cute, not ugly, after all.
There was the small detail of a pint of her own blood - but as this needed to be as fresh as she could make it, she would be taking care of that under the eyes of the Oghma clerics (which incidentally would be a good safeguard against accidents.... a whole pint!)
The spell, carefully memorized, gone over so many times she was sure she could recite it backwards while juggling raw eggs and balancing on a rope, with her eyes closed - if she had been able to do either of those at all in the first place.
Once in the temple she began her work. No other maker would do, she would lovingly model this little marvel of arcane craft herself.
For hours and hours she worked, not eating and not resting, until a perfect little figure lay on the workbench, the bowl with her blood and the spring water arrayed just so, so that the spell she was about to cast could consume them and meld them with the construct.
Just this once Beshaba.... please look elsewhere. This is going to WORK! she thought fervently.
Giddy with excitement, she had to take several breaths before she could begin the incantation. Once begun, it flowed easily, the words rolling off her tongue as if on their own accord. Flawlessly, she knew.
The wings caught fire first... glowing red and twitching with an unnatural light. It was then that she realized her mistake.
Not the wings of a fruit bat.
Oh hells.... they're an imp's wings, aren't they.... Holy hells... What kind of idiot have I been?
The world around her went white as the spell took hold, the chain reaction taking its course beyond recall. As her own blood and essence was consumed, her senses began to dwindle. At the same time, as the spirit of the owner of the wings was ripped from its plane, a painful heat exploded behind her eyes, making specks dance.
The moment lasted forever; it was gone more quickly than a hin cutpurse.
The last thing Yolanda saw was a set of pointed teeth in a wicked little smile. The last thing she thought was "Ohh crap. This means trouble....".
And then she fainted.
((the excerpt up top is from Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homuncu...%26_Dragons%29), though I added in the bat wings as creative license ))
From "Creations of the Arcane, Explained", by Mage Eck Mysile
~~~~~
The young half-elf all but ran towards the Oghma temple in her excitement. Today was the day! Her very own familiar, created with her own hands and answering her every wish. Her own little personal assistant.
All the ingredients were in a small backpack: clay, ashes, mandrake root, spring water, and a set of large bat wings that she had found in a pile of refuse (all the better, not having to kill one of the creatures for it) - they must be from one of those beautiful, large fruit bats that looked more like cute little dogs than the ugly night time hunters.
Her new little friend would be cute, not ugly, after all.
There was the small detail of a pint of her own blood - but as this needed to be as fresh as she could make it, she would be taking care of that under the eyes of the Oghma clerics (which incidentally would be a good safeguard against accidents.... a whole pint!)
The spell, carefully memorized, gone over so many times she was sure she could recite it backwards while juggling raw eggs and balancing on a rope, with her eyes closed - if she had been able to do either of those at all in the first place.
Once in the temple she began her work. No other maker would do, she would lovingly model this little marvel of arcane craft herself.
For hours and hours she worked, not eating and not resting, until a perfect little figure lay on the workbench, the bowl with her blood and the spring water arrayed just so, so that the spell she was about to cast could consume them and meld them with the construct.
Just this once Beshaba.... please look elsewhere. This is going to WORK! she thought fervently.
Giddy with excitement, she had to take several breaths before she could begin the incantation. Once begun, it flowed easily, the words rolling off her tongue as if on their own accord. Flawlessly, she knew.
The wings caught fire first... glowing red and twitching with an unnatural light. It was then that she realized her mistake.
Not the wings of a fruit bat.
Oh hells.... they're an imp's wings, aren't they.... Holy hells... What kind of idiot have I been?
The world around her went white as the spell took hold, the chain reaction taking its course beyond recall. As her own blood and essence was consumed, her senses began to dwindle. At the same time, as the spirit of the owner of the wings was ripped from its plane, a painful heat exploded behind her eyes, making specks dance.
The moment lasted forever; it was gone more quickly than a hin cutpurse.
The last thing Yolanda saw was a set of pointed teeth in a wicked little smile. The last thing she thought was "Ohh crap. This means trouble....".
And then she fainted.
((the excerpt up top is from Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homuncu...%26_Dragons%29), though I added in the bat wings as creative license ))