Log: Meeting the Metalman
| Date | Title | People | Location |
| May 8, 2015 | Log: Meeting the Metalman | Kyson, Symar and Alba | Fernwood Pub |
It's early morning in the city, the shops have opened and the merchants are manning their stalls while still sipping the last of their warm, black brew. The Fernwood has just started to recover from the patrons swarming in for a spot of fresh bread and cheese leaving the stragglers who remain to take their ease of the day. Kyson, an apprentice wizard, is seated at one corner of a long, wooden table in the back next to a window dimmed slightly by faint film of chimney soot. There, seated with his books and pens, the young wizardling absently pours himself over a new tome whilst tossing small gobbets of food to an owl perched next to him.
There is a slight thump and a mumbled apology as a large, mishapen figure struggles through the doorway. Its shoulder seems to have bumped into the doorway and it turns sideways, passing through the doorway. It carefully moves through the room, slumping into a seat near the back, across from Kyson. Its face is cast in shadow from its hood, and black and grey robes cover it in its entirety. It does not seem to have noticed Kyson, and no greeting is forthcoming.
Near the back, tucked away in one of the balcony niches sits a dark-skinned, sullen woman dressed oddly enough to be confused for a barbarian. A plate, half picked-over, of fruit and cheese sits to one side, a simple earthenware cup on the other. Between the two, a rounded oval mask stares up from the table, polished bone gleaming faintly in what light from the papered lanterns reaches her way. From beneath her hair, a small green scorpion emerges, skittering down her arm, onto the table, and toward a plump grape nearly a third its size, and begins to eat.
Kyson glances up from his reading to regard the new arrival at his table. it's not like one can 'claim' such a large surface in the tavern all to one's self - especially in the early morning hours when so many people are still getting their act together. Unfamiliar with the appearance of the new arrival the wizardling raises an eyebrow, tilts his head in appraisal. "Morning," he offers in polite, if a faint curious tone. The owl beside him squawlks out a complaint of 'feed me' when he stops.
The large figure jerks and its head turns towards Kyson. "Good day" it replies in a soft, monotone voice. It titls its head and then notices the book. "Oh. I hope I am not disturbing your reading?" It says. It shifts slightly, moving sidewards so its shadow no longer falls on Kyson. As it moves, light momentarily strikes its face, glinting off a metal mask. It turns, gesturing to a member of staff and orders some food before turning back to Kyson. "What book is it you are reading?" It enquires. Alba 's eyes flit toward the long table, drawn by the plaintive cry of the owl. An eyebrow twitches upward, upon seeing the gilded mask of the wizard's new conversation buddy, but for the moment the woman bends back to her contemplation of the mask before her. Drawing a stub of charcoal from a pouch at her hip, the woman begins to scratch markings onto the piece, eyes narrowed.
The mageling glances down to the opened book in front of him almost reflexively when asked what he's reading. The book is an octagonal volume of two wooden board covers over which are stretched sections of black-and silver crocodile skin enclosing three-dozen sheets of bleached paper, each bearing notations, illustrations and the like in various colors of ink. The book is fastened with a clasp opposite the copper hinges in the form of a black left human hand that swivels at its wrist to grasp a black bestial hooked tail. "Oh, it's my master's copy of Selvar's Conjurations. My...creatures need a little work," he groans inwardly. The owl 'pet' beside him waddles over to the side of the table and takes a quick flap of his wings to climb up into the rafters above.
"Selvar's Conjurations, Selvar's Conjurations" The figure muses, then frowns. "Not a book I've read. Not that it would be of much use to me." When the owl briefly takes wing, the figure's head follows it upwards. "Then again, I'm not particularly good with creatures myself." It flexes its small, gloved hand and begins eating. Once more, there is a flash of metal from underneath the roughly stitched robes.
The scorpion pauses in its demolishing of the grape, tail flexing and quivering for a moment. In answer, the woman in the niche snorts, amused. "Enough creatures have I," she murmurs, "why should it be that I wish to call more? One that stings my face when it is cross, enough." Taking a sip from the cup at her elbow, she leans back in her chair, taking up the mask and continuing to mark up the mask.
"It's usually something that apprentices get to read through a few dozen times when their master finds out that they can't conjure worth a damn..." he smiles a bit and takes a small hunk of cheese from his plate to pop it into his mouth. Kyson spies the faint bit of metal under the roughly stitched robes and tilts his head again, though this time it's mirrored by the same tilt as his owl. The two turn their heads in unison at the appearance of what is most likely a golem before them. "Forgive my manners..." he bows forward at the waist in a show of respect to the figure, "I'm Kyson of Blackbriar, apprentice to Master Cesran."
"Hrmmm..." A soft rumble can be heard from the figure" My name is Symar, of no particular place with no master but myself." The figure replies, taking a piece of fruit off its plate and popping it into its mouth. A red spark flickers suddenly out of its eye, and dances across its face before the figure wipes it away. "What's it like? Being a wizard and having a Master I mean. Do you enjoy it?"
Alba's scratching slows at Symar's question, then halts, her attention turning back to the table. Curious, she sets the mask aside, plucking up a small chunk of melon to toy with as she awaits the wizardling's answer.
Kyson nods to the figure and then glances over the room to the sound of the woman's voice. Her scratching draws his attention for a moment, as does the mask in her hand, but he snaps back to the golem-thing's question. "Oh...," he stammers a bit, uncertain to answer the question. His face contorts into a visage of thought and considerations until he finally offers, "It's probably the best thing that I've done...so far at least." It's a simple enough answer but there's no real 'meat' to it. "I mean, I can't really imagine -not- being an apprentice. Being a wizard is something that I've wanted to be ever since I could walk I think...and Master Cesran is a good and kind master. Strict!..." he adds quickly but with abit too much emphasis, "...but he's good to me."
"Hmm. I suppose you're lucky enough to be able to chase your dreams." Symar responds. "So where is your master now? Or did he give you some sort of quest?" Symar immediately follows with a new question as another piece of food vanishes. His head turns towards the woman in the corner briefly before turning back to Kyson, awaiting his answer.
"Sssfah," the woman in the shadows huffs, preempting Kyson's answer. "More likely it is, that he was simply told 'seek answers to better do this thing.' Often enough it is the way of those who profess to teach secrets, to instead make the student learn them of her own." At these words, the scorpion stops what it's doing entirely, drops the hollowed out grape, and scuttles back up the woman's arm, closing a pincer hard enough on her ear to draw a tiny bead of blood.
Kyson explains, "Oh, mornings are my own. Master likes to work late into the night and so sleeps in until around lunch. He won't really be ready to do anything with me until later in the day so I can work on my own projects and run errands as I need." The woman's comment draws a curious look. "That's not been my experience, no. Masters who do that don't have many students. It's not like they're going to leave you alone in their library - to crawl through tome after tome while tosses out magic in the -hope- that whatever you're doing won't get you killed." Turning back to the golem figure he adds, "It's starting to pay off - a bit. I've started picking up some side work as an enchanter here and there. It's time-consuming but..." he taps his fingertip on the octagonal book, "Wizardry isn't cheap."
"So I hear" Symar says before turning towards the woman again. "Would you care to join us?" It asks in its soft monotone voice, gesturing with a broad hand towards the table it is sitting at. Another red spark leaps from its eye, jittering across Symar's golden, mask-like face. "Though such masters as she has described" it says, turning back to Kyson, "might be suitable for things other than wizardry. A sorcerer for example, might benefit more from this approach, or a monk."
"And yet," the woman says, nodding to the book, "here the wizardling sits, learning what must be fixed of his own. Perhaps, then, it is simply that his master *need* not speak the words; already they are known to you." Almost absently, she reaches up to her ear, gently prying the scorpion's pincer loose as a pigtail stirs and slithers up to her shoulder, wrapping itself around the creature and depositing it back into the table, next to a sliver of apple. Glancing at the robed, food-eating metal man, the woman tilts her head. "Well enough I am where I sit; I may hear, and speak, and few enough there are this moment that none shall be troubled."
Yup, women who play with scorpions have a certain creepy vibe to them that's hard to look away from. You know you -shouldn't- stare but there's that a point that's just shy of dangerous that makes you want to observe them; like a lion pacing back and forth at a zoo. Kyson's face can't decide whether he's creaped out by the woman or just intrigued. For now, however, he's content to leave her where she's comfortable and remain at his own table. "yes...well," he begins in an attempt to pull some kind of conversation out of the black hole of where it was going. "... Can I ask about your robes," he querries the golum, "...they look like they've seen better days."
Symar tilts his head. "I'm no tailor" it says dryly. "I get by with this rough work. It's not like I really need them, but" He shrugs, drawing back his sleeve. Its arm is covered in copper, stained green in places. "These annoy me." it says, pointing at the stains. "Then again, the circumstances of my making were... less than ideal, from what I heard." It shrugs, dropping the sleeve again. Its head turns to the woman, curiously, before it turns back to Kyson.
Perhaps it's not polite to stare... but if it's a rule of polite society, it's one the dark-skinned woman never learned; Kyson's furtive glances her way are met with a silent, neutral, unblinking gaze, so that every time the wizardling looks back up, he meets her eyes. Almost birdlike, her head cocks to one side as the golem hints at his less-than-auspicious birth, face turning toward him even as her eyes remain locked on Kyson. "...Then the statues-that-think are more like their wetlander makers than I had thought... hn. Interesting."
Kyson keeps his attention on the less-creepy of the two conversational companions and queries to the golem, "I...could probably help you with those stains if you'd like." Folding the book closed and twisting the latch to hold it tight, he slides it closer to his chest so that he can rest his crossed forearms upon its cover. "I've polished all of Master's silver - this should be no different...I...think." You can almost see the gears whirring behind his eyes - calling up the spell that he would need, how it would be used, etc. Some people explore magic to gain new levels of awareness of the world. Kyson does it because it's fun.
"Hrm? What do you mean?" Symar asks the woman, curiously. Its own eyes are barely visible before it draws his hood back slightly, red stars in seas of black meeting her gaze. It turns to Kyson and says "That would be most kind... Though I think the staff would dissapprove if I were to remove my robes in here." He shakes his head in non-comprehension.
"It would make sense, for life which their creators build to be free of error," the woman says, lifting a shoulder as she turns her gaze to meet the red-flecked blackness. "But if they cannot, then the metal men, truly, as much man as metal. It is an interesting thought, this."
The Wizardling snickers a bit, "Oh, no - you wouldn't need to," he reaches out a hand, "Just show me your arm again...it'll brighten you up like when you were first forged," he smiles - glad to put his magic to use for others. As he reaches out, the two moon amulet of a follower of Eluna slips out from within his shirt and dangles 'round his neck; the platinum disk of the smaller of the two moons catching the light just a bit. "It would be interesting to see where your kind are made. I've only met," he pauses to think of it for a moment, "three of your kind so far."
"If a flawed being wished to bring forth another flawed being, they would only need to have a child, and seek to ensure that the least amount of damage is done in the raising of it that is possible. This, simple," the woman says, sipping from her cup. "But if a flawed thing is going to do a thing that is complicated, and breathe life into cold metal... would it not make sense to ensure that the greater work should suffer fewer flaws?"
Kyson places his right hand about an inch over the golem's forearm and takes a breath before muttering a few words in the spidery language of arcane magic, "Pwyleg dur hon." Blue-white light starts as a glow within his palm no brighter than a candle's flame. Within a second the glow has grown to envelope his hand and the light brushes against the metal-man's forearm. Once in contact, the glow leave's Kyson's palm entirely and washes over the frame polishing it to a bright and shiny radiance as though it were tumbled over and over in a jeweler's wheel. "There..." Kyson smiles and pulls back his hand; the flash of light concealed mostly by the cloth that Symar wears to cover himself.
Symar examines its arm and nods in satisfaction. "Thank you" it replies before turning back to the woman. "Less flaws maybe but a flawed being cannot bring forth a flawless thing. And as I said. I was not well made." It tilts its head and its hood slips back, revealing an intricately carved golden head, perfectly symmetrical, before it quickly pulls its hood up again..
"It makes one wonder what?" Symar enquires. "If there is perfection? If there is sucha thing as a flawless being? Even if such a thing were to exist or could be made, it should not be pursued, I think." It takes some meat and swallows it whole, whereupon half a dozen of red sparks crawl across its face.
"Many things," the woman replies, turning a grape over between her fingers. "Among them, whether or not it is that the gods truly knew what they wrought, long and long ago when all was new."
Kyson hrms, "So what brings you to the city," asking one if not both of the conversational companions.
"Well. Only They know now" the golem replies to the womans pondering, making an odd gesture with the smaller of its two hands. "What brings me to the city are my travels. There is much of the world, and I seek to know many things. Such as how I can improve this body. Incidents like that" he motions towards the doorframe he bumped into earlier. "Are quite irritating"
"A promise," the woman says mildly. "Sarathrazz pledged to give to me power, magics, and see that never would I hunger or thirst. In return, he leads me to these water-fat lands, bids me tolerate wetlander madness and learn their ways. Thus, the bargain kept."
"You should meet Stirling...one of the Artificer's that I know from the Hall. He's one of you kind and should be able to fix ya right up," the young wizard beams. He really does, for some reason, like to help people.
"Hrm. That sounds like an idea. He might be able to teach me a bit more about artifice as well." Symar muses. "But tell me. What's been happening recently. I have spent most of my life in small villages and on the small roads so I am ignorant of many matters though I have heard talk of war?" . "...So and so," Alba says, eyes narrowing faintly at the pair. "Much war near these lands... the homeless and desperate rush to the city's gates like a sandstorm of flesh and sorrow. It is a good time for the hunting and selling of meat."
Kyson nods, "Dran continues to press against Rune. It's only a matter of time before the Wizards close the trap."
"You seem confident in their power" Symar remarks. "But it is sad to hear of war. I suppose there will be many dead. And what of Heth? That I have heard of. Would a war not senselessly feed that monster?"
"I know not," Alba says, settling back in her chair and picking up her mask. "Only that many who fled those lands speak its name in terrified whispers, if they have the courage to name it at all."
Kyson explains, "I've heard that the wizards are planning to end the war once and for all - but their spells will destroy anything in its path. There will be no 'innocence' when such power is released upon the world." He seems absolutely confident in the magi's ability to defeat the horse lords. "I will drink a toast to the end of the Dran warlords and their chaotic rabble..." The tone seems light though the subject rather dark - as though he's never seen war and is more a student of its theory.