Post by Devius on Oct 21, 2017 10:59:37 GMT
Though it was late at night, a bright light shone from the tower. Much like his creations, the Master of Clays rarely rested.
Synesius Lascaris sat in his study, exhaling a sigh of pleasure as he always would when retrieving a fresh piece of clay from the block. He worked it expertly in his blotched palms to round the edges and press out all air pockets, soon holding a complete sphere in his lap.
“Maka, bring it over.” He mumbled through his beard as he placed the clay upon the scales. His servant wordlessly brought a pigeon from the cages and placed it counter to the clay. The bird did not attempt to fly away, as its wings had been clipped before it could even think to use them. It sat there, tilting its head as the scales slowly moved to reveal the clay’s superiority of mass.
Synesius frowned. “A light one, eh?” He picked the clay back from the scales and used one of his numerous tools to scrape off a good tenth of its surface. He paused to hold the clay still in the air for a moment, nodded, and returned it to perfection. When placed back on the scales, the two components were an exact match. “There we go.” The master smiled at his servant, whose porcelain mask maintained the same fair expression as always.
He moved the clay over to the wheel and used the magic that his linked spirit granted him to make it spin. The clay was quickly shaped into a cone between his hands, then he brought a thumb to its top to form a crater within. He left the wheel to continue spinning and picked the pigeon from the scales. The poor thing had no chance to struggle as he unceremoniously broke its neck and used a scalpel to empty its blood into the crater.
His work was not yet done, however, and he dug his fingers into the still warm flesh to pluck the bones out, one by one. Once they had all been removed, he tossed the flabby remains of the bird into a bucket which was already filled to the brim with the mangled corpses of other small animals. “Maka, go ahead and empty that thing.” He grumbled.
He turned back to the wheel and brought the crater down on itself, engulfing the blood within and merging it with the clay. He picked the clay up once more and turned it once again into a sphere to place on his desk, where the bones lay waiting. He then began to pick pieces from the clay and formed them around each bone, pressing them together and slowly building a new bird from the legs up.
This new bird was not a pigeon, but a beautiful dove, which he used precise tools on to create elaborate patterns and runes. Soon he laid the tools down and looked over his creation one last time before nodding contentedly. “Maka, put it in the furnace, would you?” He asked with perfect timing as the servant re-entered the study. It grasped the clay dove in its large hands with remarkable delicacy before carrying out the order.
While waiting for his creation to finish, Synesius retrieved a parchment and began to write. The call to war had been issued, and he must answer. The words did not come easily to him, as he preferred company where none were needed. What made the matter even more difficult was the letter’s recipient, he was terrified that might accidentally insult the Empress with his unpracticed vocabulary.
And so the ink had barely dried when the dove was finished. The servant picked it straight out of the oven, impervious to the flames, and placed it upon the desk. Looking it over, Synesius smiled once more. “My finest work, don’t you think?” He looked to his servant for approval, but his smile quickly faltered. “Save for you, of course. My dear Maka.” He assured his servant and reached out to caress its smooth surface. He let his hand trace the shapes and markings he had put his soul into making so many years ago, before remembering himself and turning back to the letter. “No time for that now, we still have work to do.”
He peered out the window, focusing his power, until he no longer looked into the black of night. Instead he was gazing upon the barrier between the realms, and he could see small shapes moving just beyond it. Wind spirits were playing in the squalls outside the tower. “There.” He pointed, and his servant raised its arm to follow, tearing a small gap in the barrier to let one of the spirits through. The hand followed the spirit, guiding it down towards the clay dove and letting the gap close itself.
The wind spirit disappeared, and Synesius returned his vision to the mortal realm. Suddenly, the clay dove turned its head and began to coo. It jumped, as if surprised by itself, then began to flutter its wings while cooing louder. He put a calming hand on the dove’s head, patting it softly. “There there, excited are we?” He laughed, and the bird cooed affirmingly.
Stroking his beard with his other hand, he continued. “For a lively one like you, a youthful name is needed. I will call you Prothys” The bird nodded, then continued to bob its head up and down, just because it could.
“Now Prothys, I have a job for you.” Synesius rolled up the parchment and held it in front of the bird, which eyed it intently. “I need you to deliver this to the palace, can you do that for me?” The bird bobbed its head once more and cooed. He smiled. “I knew I could count on you.” And held the parchment forward, whereupon the bird swallowed it whole, safely storing the message in its hollow interior. The bird only hesitated for a moment before scuttling out the window and spreading its clay wings, defiantly taking to the air.
Synesius watched it disappear into the darkness before returning to work. The night was not over, and there were many messages left to send. He let out a sigh of pleasure as his hand dug into the block and recovered a fresh piece of clay.
Synesius Lascaris sat in his study, exhaling a sigh of pleasure as he always would when retrieving a fresh piece of clay from the block. He worked it expertly in his blotched palms to round the edges and press out all air pockets, soon holding a complete sphere in his lap.
“Maka, bring it over.” He mumbled through his beard as he placed the clay upon the scales. His servant wordlessly brought a pigeon from the cages and placed it counter to the clay. The bird did not attempt to fly away, as its wings had been clipped before it could even think to use them. It sat there, tilting its head as the scales slowly moved to reveal the clay’s superiority of mass.
Synesius frowned. “A light one, eh?” He picked the clay back from the scales and used one of his numerous tools to scrape off a good tenth of its surface. He paused to hold the clay still in the air for a moment, nodded, and returned it to perfection. When placed back on the scales, the two components were an exact match. “There we go.” The master smiled at his servant, whose porcelain mask maintained the same fair expression as always.
He moved the clay over to the wheel and used the magic that his linked spirit granted him to make it spin. The clay was quickly shaped into a cone between his hands, then he brought a thumb to its top to form a crater within. He left the wheel to continue spinning and picked the pigeon from the scales. The poor thing had no chance to struggle as he unceremoniously broke its neck and used a scalpel to empty its blood into the crater.
His work was not yet done, however, and he dug his fingers into the still warm flesh to pluck the bones out, one by one. Once they had all been removed, he tossed the flabby remains of the bird into a bucket which was already filled to the brim with the mangled corpses of other small animals. “Maka, go ahead and empty that thing.” He grumbled.
He turned back to the wheel and brought the crater down on itself, engulfing the blood within and merging it with the clay. He picked the clay up once more and turned it once again into a sphere to place on his desk, where the bones lay waiting. He then began to pick pieces from the clay and formed them around each bone, pressing them together and slowly building a new bird from the legs up.
This new bird was not a pigeon, but a beautiful dove, which he used precise tools on to create elaborate patterns and runes. Soon he laid the tools down and looked over his creation one last time before nodding contentedly. “Maka, put it in the furnace, would you?” He asked with perfect timing as the servant re-entered the study. It grasped the clay dove in its large hands with remarkable delicacy before carrying out the order.
While waiting for his creation to finish, Synesius retrieved a parchment and began to write. The call to war had been issued, and he must answer. The words did not come easily to him, as he preferred company where none were needed. What made the matter even more difficult was the letter’s recipient, he was terrified that might accidentally insult the Empress with his unpracticed vocabulary.
And so the ink had barely dried when the dove was finished. The servant picked it straight out of the oven, impervious to the flames, and placed it upon the desk. Looking it over, Synesius smiled once more. “My finest work, don’t you think?” He looked to his servant for approval, but his smile quickly faltered. “Save for you, of course. My dear Maka.” He assured his servant and reached out to caress its smooth surface. He let his hand trace the shapes and markings he had put his soul into making so many years ago, before remembering himself and turning back to the letter. “No time for that now, we still have work to do.”
He peered out the window, focusing his power, until he no longer looked into the black of night. Instead he was gazing upon the barrier between the realms, and he could see small shapes moving just beyond it. Wind spirits were playing in the squalls outside the tower. “There.” He pointed, and his servant raised its arm to follow, tearing a small gap in the barrier to let one of the spirits through. The hand followed the spirit, guiding it down towards the clay dove and letting the gap close itself.
The wind spirit disappeared, and Synesius returned his vision to the mortal realm. Suddenly, the clay dove turned its head and began to coo. It jumped, as if surprised by itself, then began to flutter its wings while cooing louder. He put a calming hand on the dove’s head, patting it softly. “There there, excited are we?” He laughed, and the bird cooed affirmingly.
Stroking his beard with his other hand, he continued. “For a lively one like you, a youthful name is needed. I will call you Prothys” The bird nodded, then continued to bob its head up and down, just because it could.
“Now Prothys, I have a job for you.” Synesius rolled up the parchment and held it in front of the bird, which eyed it intently. “I need you to deliver this to the palace, can you do that for me?” The bird bobbed its head once more and cooed. He smiled. “I knew I could count on you.” And held the parchment forward, whereupon the bird swallowed it whole, safely storing the message in its hollow interior. The bird only hesitated for a moment before scuttling out the window and spreading its clay wings, defiantly taking to the air.
Synesius watched it disappear into the darkness before returning to work. The night was not over, and there were many messages left to send. He let out a sigh of pleasure as his hand dug into the block and recovered a fresh piece of clay.