A Jaded Life

To walk your road in life, you need the right tools...

In a dimly lit room, a small figure is seen, standing over an anvil, hammer in hand. The only illumination stems from the glow of a burning furnace, made out of black stone. But it’s not the normal, flickering glow of a fire, it’s a steady, orange glow, Within the furnace, a steady stream of lava provides the heat to smelt the metal on a small, black crucible, allowing for easy smelting of different metals, even those that need special magic to work with. The crucible itself and the drain have both been meticulously inscribed with various runes, helping with the transfer of heat, the protection of the smith and invoking the grace of the gods on the work done.

In front of the furnace, the figure is muttering under his breath, softly cursing incompetent apprentices, mediocre metals and ignorant clients, wishing for the impossible. But for a dwarf like him, the pursuit of smithing perfection is the highest pursuit there is. Picking up the finely crafted moon-silver bracelet in front of him, he places it on a small pedestal in front of the drain and works a small lever, letting molten gold flow through the drain and pour into fine inscriptions, filling them with gold and binding the gold to the moon-silver. That simple pour represents the culmination of hours upon hours of work, the apex of concentration. A single mistake now would waste all those hours, all those materials. But the dwarfs hands are steady, his eye sharp. The inscriptions fill up perfectly, decorating the moon-silver with a band of golden runes. Not wanting to disturb the cooling of the gold, the dwarf leaves the finished bracelet on the pedestal and leaves the room.

For the first time, the dwarf is fully visible and he is an impressive specimen. Clad in a sturdy leatherwest, worn over a simple tunic and pants, his dress is simple, but on his chest sits a necklace, displaying a symbol made out of three interwoven hammers, all connected at the shaft and each made out of a different material. A golden hammer for Sindri, a black hammer for Brokkr and a bronze hammer for Eitri. Each hammerhead is adorned with a differently coloured gem. In defiance of dwarven convention, his beard is short and cleanly groomed, possibly to make sure it can’t interfere in the smithing, but his hair is a wild, bronze mane, tamed by a leather thong.

“Yuthos!” the dwarf yells out, calling his apprentice. “Where is this useless git?”

The swift approach of feet is heard and within moments, another dwarf enters the room.

“Yes, master?” asks the new entrant.

“I am done with my work. We can proceed with your lesson for the day.” Together they move into another room, this one dominated by a classic charcoal furnace. At first, the apprentice works the bellows as the master expounds over the need for a steady stream of air, keeping the fire at a steady temperature to make the metal strong and malleable. Soon, the first step is done and the bar is taken from the furnace and forged for the first time. Again, the apprentice does the work, while the master speaks of proper technique and points out possible mistakes.

The process is shown in few short segments, but the sweat on both dwarves shows the passing time.

Finally, the apprentice finished his work, creating an bracer, ready to be fitted with leather straps to hold it in place. The master looks it over and nods, giving his approval to the work of his apprentice.

Another scene

In a copse of yew-trees, two woman are walking. Both are slender and fair, looking almost ethereal. “Now, pupil, you want to learn my art. To craft a good bow, you need to start with a good stave. A good stave comes from good wood. The trees around us were raised by my predecessors and me to give us those staves. We take care of the trees and they provide the materials we need. It’s a symbiotic process, neither side would prosper without the other. The trees trust our stewardship of them, and we need to prove ourselves worthy.”

Together, they work fertilizer into the ground around the trees, making sure that the trees have what they need. They make sure that the trees are free from parasites and disease. From time to time, the teacher demonstrates a spell to help with their mundane practises, showing the pupil that magic is a useful tool, but also that it is no more than a tool. The worth of the tool is measured by its use. After a while, the two retreat into a grass-roofed hut, built into a hill itself. Inside, in a dry room, various shelves with drying wood wait for the two.

“Now, a good stave needs to be dried before it is worked. The wood you see in here was taken years ago and is being prepared ever since. Patience might be the most important trait for a bowyer, not dexterity or insight into the wood. Both are useful, but if you lack patience, you will spoil your work, no matter how great your skills otherwise.”

The teacher reaches for a length of wood and hands it to the pupil.

“This will be your first project. You will have to cut it, carve it and shave it. It will be yours, once you are done. A reminder of your beginning.”

The teacher takes the pupil into another room, this one a bedroom. Atop a bureau sits a bow. It looks rather simple in design and badly made. The wood is slightly twisted and uneven, a few dark marks showing the maker’s impatience during the burning-process.

“This one is mine. It sits in a prominent place to remind me that, while talent is useful, effort and dedication to the craft, those are what makes the master. As you can see, my work was shoddy at best, I doubt anyone would willingly use that bow. But by never giving up on my craft, I got to the point where I am now. Being hailed master-crafter of bows, supplying bows to the Wyld Hunt itself.”

Another scene

In the steady shine of a crystal-lamp a dark-skinned being sits, looking through a magnifying glass at his work. He is one of the Daimon, a follower of Chronos to be precise. And everything in his world is about precision, from the grooming of his small pair of horns, to the making of delicate time-pieces, trying to worship his god in his work.

And such is the piece he is working on that day. A small time-piece, small enough to be carried around and wound by a spring, moving the gears at a steady rate in accordance with the flow of time. Trying to manipulate the tiny gear-pieces with a small pair of tongs, setting them onto their prepared axles to let them grip into their pairs is no easy feat. Only with a delicate, steady hand and a clear eye is it possible to make the valuable time-pieces for the higher ups.

There are other ways to tell time, but he prides himself on his work, in his opinion the purest of them all. His time-pieces do not rely on external factors, no need for sand to fall through an opening, no need for a candle to burn down, no need for the shadow of the sun to wander on a scale. No, his time-pieces are pure, they work by their design. They give the pure time, unchanged by the size of the opening in a sandglass, unchanged by the burn-rate of a wick and unmolested by clouds. It takes some time, but soon his work is done and he stands, taking the finished time-piece to the customer, a proud priest, collecting tribute to the gods. His work was chosen to be given to Chronos himself, making it the proudest day of his life.

Another scene

A raven haired woman, stands in front of a complicated glass-apparatus. Under one of the flasks a fire burns, boiling the liquid within. She focuses on the liquid, comparing the heat to her notes and brushes her hair back behind her pointed ears.

“Interesting. After infusing the water with Astral Power, the boiling point changes. But for some reason I can’t find a mechanism for the change. Master, why is it like that?” she speaks up, hoping for a good answer from her master.

“You reach for knowledge over your current level, child.” a pale, white-haired elder answers. “You simply infuse the material with raw Astral Power, unwise of the composition inside you. Unless you are highly skilled in the use of Astral Power, you will always have a mixture within you, depending on the Astral River around you. Simply pushing your Astral Power into a substance can unbalance it. Only a highly skilled Alchemist can use specific types of Astral Power to change materials in a consistent and useful manner, you are far from ready. Learn to use the materials and their properties first, then try to change them.

Why are you so obsessed with the influence of Astral Power on matter anyway? Matter is in internal balance, it has always been like that.” the elder explains with a slight annoyance in his voice. His apprentice is skilled, yes, but oh, so headstrong.

“It is interesting. The most basic, physical properties change due to Astral Power infusion. What happens if the infusion occurs naturally? Wouldn’t that change the materials around us? And couldn’t we guide that?” she asks.

“Now you are talking true transmutation? When the world was young and unsettled yes, you are right, legends tell that back then the gods were able to shape the world to their will. But as the Astral River settled, the world settled with it and now we have a balance. And true transmutation is theoretically possible but the Astral Power-Cost is prohibitively high. Now, get back to your work on the Aqua Regis, you have an order to fulfill. Once you are done, you might be able to go back to your waste of time.” The elder rebukes his apprentice. The thirst for knowledge the young traveller expresses is immense but thirst for knowledge does not quench hunger for food or keep the rain off their head.

...and sometimes, making those tools is your road in life.