((Years in the future, but not many... a HERETICATED SORCERER tarries by a path long untread))

amidst the long collapsed cityscape, the carapacian is sitting under a tent made of an old blanket, they're arranging grist crystals of various materials along an octagram drawn in the dust, occasionally looking to a book by their side. they seem to be performing some alchemical fabrication of some kind.