From Clay to Life: An Exercise in Creation

[Wrenmae]

40th of Spring 511 AV The working man arose at dawn, his back bent to the demands of his toil, his rigors. The working man did not much care about opinion, there was only merit in reputation, in the finished project. The working man was not manipulative. He manipulated the soil beneath his feet to yield clay, and the clay beneath his hands to yield shape. There was no greater philosophy than that. Of course, the Working man had most often been a working man his entire life. He was born of the soil and moved by the soil, died in the soil, and was interred to the soil. Farmer or builder, it didn't matter. They all spoke with tones roughened by labor, hearty snarls sharpened with dull rocks and pebbles. Shroud was not a working man. Although his fingers held calluses from the work he did by extension of his calling, murder and theft, he hadn't the same penchant for progress as the others around him. Rayage was in the distance, watching blandly as the men moved two by two into the clay mines to dredge up his precious material. The nuit could not lend a hand to their aid, brittle bodied by the process of being a nuit. Shroud watched his partner, the way he moved, the almost conscious instinct to never stand too still for too long...he'd look like a statue, devoid of life save the rippling robe. Shroud's hands were already caked in dirt and blisters, the pickaxe in his hand used to pry lumps of tough clay from the wall taking its toll on his skin. At least he was being paid...sorta. Rayage was Mok's friend first, but the mercenary had other things to than help the undead one build his shop. Shroud had met the creature in the winter, Wrenmae dedicated pages to his story, some long monologing yarn about struggle or some other horseshit. It was irrelevent. Shroud was interested in results first and backstory second...maybe third even. Rayage passed from his sight as he stepped into the hollow of the open mine, lantern light glowing where daylight could not intrude. The workers moved with singular purpose, hacking out the clay and placing it in wagons to be taken up. Shroud worked at these, swinging his took into the walls again, and again, and again, freeing clumps of the stuff from its rigid hold, swing by exhausted swing. He loaded it like the rest, bit by bit into the cart, pulled it with the rest to the daylight and set it aside with the other borrowed carts full of the stuff. The clay would be made into bricks later, he'd heard, firebaked and prepared for building. Personally, at this point in time he would be happy to just see the morrow. The way his back felt, his arms screaming for rest...it was agony. Torture. And it wasn't even midday.

[Rayage]

Ah, the sound of working men. The pickaxes clanked against the clay in a stellar rhythm that could only sing of progress. There was no better sound, no, not in the world, and not in this kind of work, especially when you are paying all these humans for their services. Any slacking once so ever got the nuit angered, and being a nuit he had long forgotten the need of rest, or the humans need to take a break. In that regard he was unforgiving and quickly got a reputation as a slave driver. He expected one hundred percent out of his workers one hundred percent of the time. There was nothing wrong with that. It is called getting what you paid for.

Yes, getting what you pay for… It was quite the concept, one hardly ever learned in Sunberth. Usually one is overcharged for services or swindled somehow. Not today, not now, not ever will he let a lowly human take more money than his labor is worth. He spent quite a lot of money on hiring these lowlifes and he was going to make sure that he got what he paid for. No exceptions, no sliding scale, no mercy.

A gold miza was a gold miza, nothing more, nothing less. It was the perfect representation of balance for it was worth exactly what it is. Humans, the filthy creatures that they are, distort the value of a gold miza believing it to be worth more than it is, or perhaps believing themselves to be worth more than they really are. Ego gets in the way, and balance isn’t found there. For something there is always a price, for laziness there would be a price too, a less than subtle warning issued by the so called ‘overseers’ Ray put in charge to keep ‘productivity’ high. As much as he would love to have done all that work himself, there was something to say about who he put in charge of overseeing all the workers that he had hired.

Things seemed to be going smoothly from the outside. Carts of clay were coming out of the mine in a reasonable, but altogether slow pace. He could push a little harder, keep them working all night for example, but humans are delicate things. The nuit had to keep that in mind. They needed rest, and breaks, and food, and sleep… Was there nothing more he could baby them with? In exchange for allowances for their ‘natural behavior and basic needs’, and with a bit of gold he was going to see this project through to the end.

Lantern light lit up the dark recesses of the mine as sunlight faded, going deeper in the song of progress continued to echo into his ears. A smug smile on his lips, nothing can halt the inevitable and his shop will be built. The groans and grunts of men, the sound of axes striking the clay, prying it from the mine, it was all too good. Very good, very good. A silent observer he walked past his workers until he spotted one in particular, “My, my” he said, ”You are working too.” he sounded glad, or perhaps just satisfied. His eyes stared at the man, Wrenmae, ”Don’t keel over.” he warned him. Unfortunately they have already had such incidences. A loss to him, but men could be replaced. Money did buy them, money bound them, golden chains around adored them. Gold was mans ultimate weapon, it could do anything, and with his store he hoped to accomplish much much more.

[Wrenmae]

Beside him, stronger men bent beneath the efforts of their toil. The hungry earth yielded little, swallowing their blood and sweat and offering mud in return. But it was mud Rayage wanted, and mud he would get. Hissing, Shroud brought his pickaxe into the wall again, showering the workers beside him with an explosion of dust and clay. They said nothing, grunting to pass the time. Or perhaps it was their language, some throwback to the primeval days where men no doubt shuffled over the embers of a fire, hooting like a Jamouran. Or at least that's what someone tried to tell him once. A familiar voice broke the monotony at his back and snarling, Shroud buried his pickaxe into the wall and turned. Rayage watched, every the cloaked and snide observer. Shroud had found most of the workers, Rayage's money had paid for them. While he was here, he might as well work for a coin as well...never could have too many mizas these days. Sweat soaked his lanky body and he wiped locks of brown hair from his face with a dirtied hand. He grimaced at the nuit, chuckling, "Ironic that he who wants his building the most, works the least. Afraid you'll snap those dusty bones swinging down here?" He yanked the pickaxe from the wall, motioning that they should return topside. They walked in silence, side by side, the labor of men painting the thick air around them. It was only when they walked from the entrance that the mercenary finally and truly breathed, letting the pickaxe drop from his sweaty hands. "Forgot that the living require rest?" He asked Rayage with a grim smile, grasping his waterskin and draining it. "We don't call for a break soon and you'll have a few more bodies and a few less workers...bad for hiring if your men keep dying, warns a fellow maybe money's easier in the blood pits."

[Rayage]

The nuit watched the progress of men, toiling in the dirt, clay, dirty from a hard days work. Miza well earned. Equivalence that is what has been earned today. Click, clack, the banging of pickaxes sounded throughout the mines. Hard labor was happening, and he had many men to come support his cause, all because of the money he had. Money was the ultimate power in this world. It did things that even his magic could not; his great and powerful magic was dwarfed by the cold, and all too physical weight of the gold miza coin. It seems in this world, to make money you have spend money, and Ray was spending plenty of miza.

”Irony?” he asked, ”I think that you are mistaken. Ive been plenty busy, besides” he waved a hand dismissingly, ”Its not like they are forced to work here. Every man is getting their share of the miza.” He told him, ”Including you.” he said. Money, yes Miza, did all the work for him. He bought the labor.

Then the silent walk, following the motion and taking the hint he walked by his accomplice. Nothing was said, but that was ok silence didn’t follow them. The noise of picks and work filled the air, animating it with a sense of purpose. Ray was their employer, and he gave them gold, he gave them purpose, he gave them a means to an end, and in exchange all he wanted was his building. It was slowly coming to fruition though. Each pick fall, each load of clay leaving the mines, everything was leading to the end result and everyone benefitted.

Reaching the mouth of the mine, sunlight greeted them. The silence between them continued a while longer before he spoke up again. Ray listened to what he said to say and nodded a little. ”I think Ive been plenty generous.” he thought about what was said some more. He really did not like the thought that the Blood Pits would be better... The pitiful humans were getting a little tired. Mulling it over for a bit he fell into silent consideration. ”So be it.” he said, he wasn’t too thrilled, but he didn’t need any more bodies to deal with or a few less workers. ”A break can be issued.” he said looking around at his exhausted workers. ”Spread the news.” he told them, but it seemed as soon as the word ‘break’ came out of the nuits mouth word spread quickly as the workers dropped their pickaxes, ”A short break. Go fill your stomach and quench your thirst.”

He walked more into the clearing, shaking his head at himself. Why did he allow himself to give in so easily? ”As for you…” he trailed off looking at all the clay that has been gathered so far, ”Progress seems to moving quite smoothly” he said, really having no reason to complain. He just wished that things would be getting done just a little bit faster.

[Wrenmae]

At the sound of 'break' men nearly fell to their knees, dragging clay-stained bodies from the maw of earth as though some primitive refinery vomiting large pycons. The image was disturbing and Shroud turned away from it. He motioned Rayage to another side of the construction, away from the rabble that hacked at the ground as though swinging blades at foes. The lot of them were mismatched mercenaries, slavers all if any of their fellows were worth the effort to catch. Shroud would have considered the career as well. Lucrative, if not a bit on the fatal side. No one seemed to hold high regard for slavers, not even slavers. After all, if one man could lose his freedom to coin, why not all? "And yet I detect disdain," The mercenary grinned at Rayage, taking a seat against a lopsided tree and stretching out, "Perhaps the great alchemist Rayage has seen better clay diggers in his exhaustive life?" He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders and knocking clay off his hands. The sun was hot today, bearing down on the workers like an angry eye. Uncharacteristically hot for a Spring day, but Shroud wasn't one to complain about simple things. "My question for you," he found himself saying, taking an apple from his cloak, a gift from the rations he had advised Rayage to provide to discourage hot heads and hotter blades, "Is what sort of a shop can a nuit open that won't be burned down by the Sunberth brutes for practicing magic?" His became muffled around the apple, chewing and swallowing with a satisfied sigh. "Tell me that."

[Rayage]

Disdain?" The nuit watched him, not amused, No, I dont detect any disdain, I detect sarcasm. It is not that Ive seen greater clay miners" he said watching the workers venture forth from the mine. "It is that Ive seen greater amounts of progress done in less time." he explained. It was almost painful to watch, not because of their sorry state of being, but because of the absolute waste that breaks were. They were burning daylight, and every chime halted on his project is another chime that he won't have his shop. He didnt like that, no, not at all. They all could collapse for the nuit care, as his shop will be built one way or another, blood serving as the mortar, and bone as the stone, he would have it at any cost. For what were their lives worth to him? They were only tools to be used to meet an end. They have been bought and so subjected themselves to the rule of the gold chain.

Taking a brief moment to watch the man as he laughed, the nuit stayed still, following him, but nonetheless as still as he could be. It was obvious that he was dead, or rather the body was, and he was undead. The nuit had been festering in the heat, and so he kept a distance between him and the man who had agreed to help him out of respect. Respect? No. The nuit couldnt be accused of that. It was mutually benefitting that the man wouldnt be overcome by the smell. Not that the sweaty messy excuses of humans emerging from the clay mines smelled any better.

"My, my," the nuit began, sarcasm hinted in his voice, "has the heat gone to your head?" he asked, "Do I need to get you some water?" he tried to sound 'concerned', but it was an awkward tone for the nuit, unpracticed over the ages. It ended up sounding more grim than concerned. It seemed that time has weathered his personality, "Im not opening a magic shop." he corrected the man, "No, I have no desire to be lynched." he said, "My shop will sell things from far away lands, further out into the great sea." he explained, "Exotic goods, one of a kind treasures and pets can be found here." he grinned, "Im not Rayage the Alchemist, but Rayage." he paused, "That is it. The people will make of it what they will. Besides, one would be crazy to open a magic shop." he said, "As you said, it will be burned down. Its all Perspective." he said, "And what they dont know wont hurt them."

The nuit knew full well that it took a mage to say for sure what is magic and what isnt. Normal people, Sunberthians, despised magic and therefore would have a hard time telling that his wares were magical compared to the exotics from another land.

[Wrenmae]

"A dealer in exotic goods, hmm?" Shroud nodded appreciatively. "That'll get their interests hooked, just make sure they don't see what goes on behind closed doors." Honestly, the nuit's smell was nothing to the claydust clogging his nose and flavoring his mouth. Everything felt earthy currently. "Sunberthians play at detective too much these days, make sure your security isn't the forgiving type." It wasn't hard to see that the nuit was decaying, flakes of pale skin peeled from his face and hands, but most of it was kept out of the public eye. Honestly, this was a part of their kind Shroud had not been introduced to. If Rayage continued decomposing at such an alarming rate, how could he expect to hold business? No doubt the line could be drawn in Sunberth at the time when they were exchanging mizas and products with a walking skeleton. He wanted to ask, but he and Rayage had only met recently...their relationship was a product of mutual benefit. As such, forays into his declining biology was hardly the sort of talk business associates shared. It might give Rayage the wrong idea. "Two more days of this and we'll have all the clay you need and then some," Shroud estimated, stretching his back, "After that, it's transportation and breaking ground...but I defer to the building foreman for the actual construction plans. My goal here is to inspire and observe." A silence between them. "Why Sunberth of all places? Certainly you could have found safer places to peddler your wares...why this city of anarchy and chaos?"

[Rayage]

”Ah yes,” he said, ”Don’t you worry about my security measures. Im sure no one will be foolish enough to challenge what I have in store to get to my dirty little secret.” he informed the man that he already had a plan. ”When you are as old as I am, you think twelve steps ahead of these pathetic humans. Nothing will ever catch you by surprise.” perhaps it is the nuits ever planning nature that allowed him to have a sense of ambiguity and nonchalance about everything that he encountered. Life would really have to be trying to surprise this nuit, illicit an emotion that he hadn’t felt in gods knows when.

Was the nuit always planning, did he always have an ace in the hole, or was this all a façade, something to keep up appearances, and to make himself seem bigger than he already is. That was for those around him to decide. His unshakable confidence in himself, his plans, his visions, and dreams could be inspiring, but they also could be scary. Who has that kind of confidence? What does he have planned? Does he even have a plan at all?

Rayage nodded, glad to hear that this digging, mining, and transportation ordeal was almost over, if he could he would make them work faster and harder. Though as his alley observed the workers were already at wits end, ”Inspire and observe.” he nodded again, ”People do tend to need a little inspiration now and then, don’t they?” he asked, ”Perhaps yourself included?”

The question would be met with silence between the two. Ray had only said what was on his mind. How was the man before him supposed to inspire if he didn’t look inspirational himself? It was just the nuits observation as the man was caked in mud and clay. His energy seemed to be drained, and he looked like he had little left to offer. Not inspirational. Then came the question, THE question of why. The alchemist laughed at the words that came out of the man as if they were spoken by a fool, ”Why Sunberth?” he asked. ”Why anywhere else?” he asked his own question, ”Surly there are safer places, but I doubt it would be as interesting.” he told him, ”You see, Im looking to live again.” he said, ”I want to feel again.” he admitted, ”And this place seems the best to seek the reaction that I wish. This is kind of like me asking you why do you stay here? Surely its not because of the people.” He grinned.

OOC :

Ive been meaning to ask. Ive refrained from using your name in my posts because I am unsure by which name your PC will be called. Wrenmae, or Shroud? How would Ray know him?

[Wrenmae]

A raven laughed somewhere above them, its loud caw-cawing echoing over the sound of clinking clay cups and murmured conversation. Shroud watched the nuit without judgment, analyzing the way he spoke, how he spoke, the way his thin arms and nimble fingers moved. Rayage was a nuit, a creature given unlife by…something. He’d learned that nuit were created, not born, and that their bodies ever swung toward a slow decay. How must that feel? Could they feel? When they lost an arm, was it agony or inconvenience? What did they sup upon, if anything, what perpetuated them outside the magic used in their creation? Was there anything? Shroud laughed when Rayage commented he might need inspiration, holding up a hand to bade him stop, chuckle doubling over his narrow body, “Inspiration? To dig clay? Please. Your only incentive is a gold rimmed coin, the men work for that rim and they will work harder for more, less for less.” He straightened, finishing off the apple and tossing the core over his shoulder. In an explosion of glossy black feathers, the raven above them winged down and caught the core before it hit the earth, winging off with it into the trees. “Yon bird cares only for what keeps it alive. It will work for food, if you could make it understand. Men are not so different…surely you remember what it was like to be a man? They are birds with more complex desires, but all to an end. Men want to live, so they seek money, money to buy the bread they use to live. Or men seek power, strength of arm or magic to earn the coin to buy the bread they use to live. Men are more complicated than birds, they add steps before the things they need to feel more complex. Man wants to live, even beyond his death, so he seeks to be remembered. Man seeks to be king that his name might be whispered, that Dira might not claim them so utterly that no one recalls their footsteps. Man, above all else, seeks to live. You, dead man, you seek to live as well…or perhaps just to exist.” Shroud sighed, taking another swallow from his water skin before setting it aside on the grass, wiping mud from his face. “You want the men to work harder? You must offer them something no employer can. You must offer them more than the coin. What do they care if your shop is built this season or the next? They receive no profit from it, they receive no discounts or treasures. Their names are not carved into your timber; they are not remembered for creating your dream. Only you will be remembered for running it…and so you cannot inspire these men. Not until you show them that you are different.” Shroud grinned, “But I don’t think you care, dead man. Outside the construction of your shop, I think you couldn’t give a damn about the lot of us. We are your means to an end, your animated tools, some more useful than others.” He shrugged, “I do not fault you for it. You think the same as any predator in Sunberth. Men use men like animals and discard the remains. Sometimes those animals grow fangs and gnaw their masters to the ground with the rest of them. You seek to live? You’ve chosen no more an honest place.” He held out his arm toward the workers, tired men who huddled with whispered conversations. Their barrel chests rose and fell and two men wrestled weakly, trading blows caught in slow motion. “Man makes no excuses here, hides behind no veil, pretends to be nothing else. If ever you wanted to find connection to life, Dead man, look no farther than your workers. They must live in order to work, they must breathe to eat. When they grow old they will die, their worth worn out on projects completed on their sweat and blood…each one nameless.” Dusting the drying clay from his hands, Shroud leaned toward Rayage and clasped him on the shoulder, letting him go after but seeming to just initiate contact for the sake of connection. “Not here for the people? I am the people, Rayage. These are my people. I do not feel like myself anywhere else, and I cannot so easily learn the hungers of mankind than here where they are most truthful, most starving.” The raven called out from above them. Today it dined on apple cores and tomorrow, the flesh of the fallen. It mattered little in Sunberth where the streets drank blood and the walls bit bones when no one watched. “Inspire me then, Rayage, inspire these men and show us you’re different.” Putting both arms behind his head, the murderer looked up at the sky, grinning, “What can you offer us but gold rimmed coins and impatience?”

[Rayage]

The nuit endured to listen to the psychobabble that the man was spewing out from his vey core. It felt so very heart-felt, and the emotion that it aroused just made the nuit chuckle, laugh right in the mans face when he was done. A hand went down and lightly gripped the swords handle before coming off it, hopefully going unnoticed, "You are precious." he contorted, "You are right about one thing," he said, holding up a lone finger to indicate how many rights were in that 'speech' of his, "I am no different from any man here, from anyone in Sunberth. I dont give a damn.' he said, proclaiming it to his accomplice.

"But again, I underestimate the powers of perception." he said as if doubting himself and what he had just said, "It couldnt hurt to give them something to look forward to, could it?" he asked, mainly himself. "If that is what inspiration is, then so be it." he laughed, he was sure that he will be called "Rayage the Fool" before long for listening to this delusional freak he had before him. He knew the risks of doing this, but it could no longer be helped, Moral too was just as good as inspiration.

By now the workers had all gathered around the supply of water that was brought out during breaks, and Rayage crossed the expanse between him and the workers leaving that rather convincing fellow behind in the dust. Grabbing a crate he stood atop it and called for each of his workers attention. They were a rowdy bunch, but eventually they all simmered down and he got to speak his mind, "My workers," he called them so 'dearly', "thank you for your attention." he said, "I see that you all are working hard and I want to reward you." he said, almost gagging on the word 'reward alone. It sounded almost alien when the nuit spoke it, "Please, take the rest of the day off." he said, and with that some of the workers didnt need to be told twice. They were already leaving, but Rayage was quick to stop them in their tracks, "Allow me to treat you, all of you" he called out towards those leaving, "to a drink at the Pig's Foot Tavern." he said, and with the indication of good ale those who were previously walking away rejoined the group.

There were cheers and hollers and jests made at the nuits expense, but he stepped down and walked back over to Shroud, "Tomorrow I expect then all to work just as hard as today." he told him, "Now" he laughed at him, "Moral is a bit more important than Inspiration." he said, "You have excellent 'people skills'" he started, "do you not?" he asked, "When they are plenty drunk I want you to work their charm and get them all nice and inspired." he said, obviously not having learned a thing from the 'ramblings' of the man just a moment ago. Ray was his own person and he liked to do things 'his way'.

The nuit lead the way to the Tavern.