Closed [ED]A Symbol a Sigil[Wa'Djinn]

[Crylon Stonecraft]

30 Fall 519 An early riser, Crylon had awoken from his bunk in the mens quarters before the sun had fully risen. The pavilion was simple, but a good bit of civilization in the meantime as they built up their new site. Eventually everyone would have their own abode, their own place, but in the meantime people had to make due. Rising Crylon made his morning ablutions, got a quick bite to eat, and then heading into the common area with his pack to consider what he should do for the day. Work on something? Build something? Design something? Explore? Learn a new skill? Meet a new person? Crylon was unsure, sitting in the common area over the fire pit. Unsure of what the day would bring or how he would fill it, Crylon reached into his pack and pulled out the once blank book he had purchased in seasons past. Now though it was not blank, filled with his notes on mortar and things he had learned about such in Sunberth. Numbers, ratios, facts, anything he had found which seemed reliable about the subject. Taking out his ink and a quill next, Crylon found a blank page and pondered what he might do. His mind wandering, he thought back to other drawings and writing he had done, and his mind turned back to long ago and his lessons in Sultros and Kalea on Glyphing. Somewhat absentmindedly Crylon began to write, drawing out some simple runes. A focus first, a rune he knew well. His picturing of it was a rough anvil shape of a lopsided and smaller on one end square shape. A point on one end, drawn off it, to make the horn. That, Crylon thought to himself, was the easy part. He was however left to ponder further as he began work on his next Glyph, a barrier, and considered how to best illustrate it with Glyphing. WC: 317

[Wa'Djinnabi]

The life of a farmer turned out to be a rather simple one. Generally it followed the pattern of wake up, eat, work the fields in one way or another, break for supper, work until the sun began to sink over the tops of the treeline, dinner, then bed. It was hard work, but not so bad. He had things to do that amounted to a surprising amount of problem solving so it kept his mind busy. The problem was, well, the days off. Naturally Djinn had days where he only worked half the day, really what amounted to maintaining and checking their progress. If all was well, they made their rounds and ended up with some free time. But it was the days that Dawson told him in no uncertain terms that he was to take some time for himself and if he found Djinn in the fields he would have him tied up and under Kelski's tender mercies. As much as he liked Kelski, he certainly did not wish to be the object of her wrath. She was a predator kelvic after all.

So, although Djinn had much he could be doing, stuff that would be productive and yet not work related, he found himself rather aimless after the morning meal. So he spent much of that morning people watching as he made a desultory effort to finish off a very hearty porridge. More then once he found himself simply stirring the grain and egg and whatever else concoction as he lounged in his chair. Two of the legs were in the air as he balanced and ate, his many arms splayed out of his very basic shirt.

One thing he noticed was that the settlement he invited himself into was always busy. There were not many of them, maybe a score or so, but every one of them was moving, hauling, making or tending to something. Sure people took time off from their many duties, but not often and not usually at the same time. So the result was that common area, where one got their food and ate, was bustling all through the morning. Dawson came in at one point and gave him a gesture with two fingers, implying that he was watching him and left with food. Mercy and her little one came by as well. Nice girl that one, always nice to see a fellow bala marked.

If anything it was the islands of inactivity that drew the eye. For instance, a fellow who looked young settled himself down with ink and book of some kind and began to exude both industriousness and the sense of a person unsure of what they were doing. There was something about them that tickled the back of his memory. Djinn didn't know everyone who was here, he certainly threw himself into his work too much to do say that he was social enough to know at least everyone's names. However, he would say he was good with faces, and he was pretty sure he knew this person from somewhere.... In a cascade of clicks from 6 snapped fingers, he smiles to himself, of course, the meeting in the tower earlier in the season. The man had a thick, rough accent and his words were very... economical. The front legs of his chair hit the packed earth ground as he set his bowl down before sauntering over to investigate.

From what he remembered, this was the fellow with the strange arm. He supposed all humans had strange arms, poor malformed disabled dears, but this one's arm looked like it was dipped in silver then blackened like cast iron but also polished like a lacquer. The effect was stunning on such a well proportioned person. He was, however, very short. Djinn had a foot and a half on the man, at the very least and towered over him as he looked over his shoulder. He seemed to be writing... something into his apparently blank book. He stood there, a set of arms clasped behind his back, another crossed at his chest and the third holding one elbow as the other held his chin. He watched there, in no way looming or being awkward. He was far too refined and graceful to do either of those things.

Besides, if he interrupted now, the man could ruin the illustrations and drawings he was working on.

Word count: 734

My words

Their words

[Crylon Stonecraft]

It might have been the sound of someone snapping in unison more times than was generally possible nearby. Or perhaps Crylon had simply noticed the lurking presence nearby. The hairs on the back of ones neck as one senses eyes on their person. Or perhaps the man was simply not subtle, and was lacking in any manner of stealth or really even the consideration to attempt to be unobtrusive. Or maybe it was magic, some innate ability within Crylon... Probably not the last one, but surely one of those reasons was the answer. For whatever the reason, Crylon paused in his work. Not as he was thinking, as he had paused before in his concentration on some good visual runes to use for a barrier, but as he felt eyes upon him. Someone watching him. Glancing up abruptly from his work and glancing about, Crylon quickly found the odd looking man staring at what he was doing from not that far off. He was a bit on the tall side for a human, but compared to Crylon he truly towered. He was also sporting more arms than the normal two he or a human would generally have. This left Crylon wondering if the man had been cursed, or had befallen some odd magic which had shifted his form and left him stuck as such with too many limbs. Following this line of thought, Crylon considered what was the most likely. But seeing as he was surrounded by kelvics, beings able to switch from human to animal form, living buildings, and all other manner of magic... Well to say the least, it would not surprise him if some magic was the reason for the extra arms. Whatever the reason was, he was not sure. But he was sure, there was a reason, or a tale, or at least an explanation. Not wanting some random dweller of the Demesne to stand and lurk while watching what Crylon was working on, Crylon pointedly met the mans gaze. “Is you needing something?” Left unsaid verbally, but perhaps conveyed with his look and tone, was a multitude of other subtleties. Slight annoyance at the man for staring and watching him work without asking. Boredom at the entire thing. A desire to get back to his work. Curiosity. Caution. Whether or not the man would pick up on such subtleties, Crylon could not say. But he preferred to strain his usage of common as little as possible, preferring instead to speak with meaning by using as little speech as he could at times, or in turn using non-verbal or literal expressions to convey his meaning. Metaphors, and other such things. Stories. Curiosity overcoming him, Crylon met the mans eyes, pressing onward. “Is you always had so many arms? Or come into them? Or happen to? Born with, like Isur and arm? Or... Other way come about?” WC: 480

[Wa'Djinnabi]

Wa'Djinn's gaze shifted from the work this strange person was doing to his face as he turned to him. It was strange, the man had both perfect proportions and yet they were slightly off, like a statue made living, perfect except strange flaws that would never be on an eypharian, let alone the lack of the proper amount of arms. Even by human standards, it was just slightly different. Particular that heavy brow of his. But his flinty brown eyes held a calculating intelligence. Which perhaps explained the stilted words that came out of his mouth. Now, Djinn was no master of tongues and was not fluent in common, but he was fairly proud of what he knew of it. But it took a moment for the eypharian to parse the words and then translate it into Arumenic. In the process his eyebrows drew together and he squinted at the man, his middle set of arms finding his hips.

Much of it was lost in translation, naturally, so what Wa'djinnabi took away from the brief sentence was that this man wanted to know if he needed something. All else was lost so he considered it at face value. He relaxed and his lips quirked into an easy smile, he shrugged and took a seat next to the man. However, the other question took him off guard. Djinn gave the man a queer look and tilted his head as he parsed out the meaning of his words, "I do not understand my friend, it is the natural way of things to have these arms." He pursed his lips and his eyes lingered on that strange arm of his newest companion's, "That is not some sort of metal magic then?" He shook his head to rid himself of the preconceived ideas he had of this fellow. "No, these arms are the birthright of my kind for I am of the glorious eypharian race. So, that makes you an Isur? Not a human?" And why not, men with metal arms, stranger things wandered around the Demense all the time.

He gestured with one of his hands to the paper, "What is that?" He asked without preamble.

My words

Their words

[Crylon Stonecraft]

It was odd, Crylon found. It seemed the man heard what he said, without hearing anything but what he said. Crylon was no master of common, but still tone and things tended to convey across languages in his experience. The fact that the man seemed to react in such a way that he did not react to any of his tones at all left Crylon to wonder. Was the man being obtuse on purpose? Ignoring him? Understanding, but feigning lack of understanding? Or did he simply assume no one would use such a tone with him, and therefore did not see or hear it? Isur danced with words, an almost inborn nature of such things due to their culture and way of discourse. Among Isur Crylon was no master of such subtlety either. But this man... He was either a true master of such, or a complete imbecile at such. Crylon, considering things, could not decide which was the more likely. From his response it seemed he, like Crylon to a degree, was born with his unique appendage. Or in his case, appendages. “Arm, not magic. Is gift, of God Izurdin. God and father of Isur. Is mark of his gift to all Isur. Not... Metal magic.” Crylon heard the word Eypharian, and assumed from the context that like his own race, of Isur, that the man was naming his race. An odd apparently multi-armed race. But a race all the same. “Yes, and why I not think is just fashion, or some magic, having extra arms? Seem you assume same of me. Is so not with reasoning, to think use magic or something for more arms?” They were not talking long however, before the man passed on to another topic, namely his Glyphing work. Which from his obtrusive viewing, seemed to have been his real reason for coming over to Crylon. If subtlety was to be lost though, subtlety could be forgone. “Is seem rude to come over, only to look on what do. Not even ask, just put nose in. Now ask what do, before even greet or tell own name. Is seem rude, to me. What is you do then? Waving arms and shoving nose in peoples work?” WC: 371

[Wa'Djinnabi]

Wa'Djinnabi re Ahnatep's eyebrows creased as he once more had to parse through this man's strange way of speaking and then the common that then got mentally translated to the language Arumenic. It helped the man was being very blunt as many of the subtleties were lost. It was then that the general cheerfulness about the situation died within him. This man was, not exactly hostile but by no means a friendly sort. He did not lose his friendly smile, but it certainly shifted into a more grim set. Djinn wasn't entirely sure why he bothered, these... Raghdjaivena, half men with the wrong amount of limbs, were beneath him. And yet he felt compelled to try, after all most of them seemed to accept him better then his own people. Ah... the ever present hollowness within had returned at last. He felt the urge to simply leave but he would perhaps try once more, now that he knew what was going on and had the tone of the room, so to speak, he could maybe handle the situation better. Briefly the thought of using hypnotism to nudge this strange two armed non-human to trust him more but he dismissed the thought out of hand. Hypnotism was dangerous and an ethical breach of trust he was not prepared to do just yet.

Instead he quirked an eyebrow, his expressions feeling more wooden to him now that it had moved to conscious effort instead of just genuine feeling. He nodded, "Come now, we are all friends here." He gestured with his lower arms by opening them up wide, as if to encompass the entirety of the Demense, "I saw that you working and instead of bumping your elbow and ruining your work I showed the tallest of patiences by waiting for you to stop doing what you were doing. Should I interrupt art," Which was what he assumed the shorter man was doing at this point, "Just to drink my curiosity?" He gave a wry smile which did not reach his eyes, "The skies say I am not wanted here, I think. You may return to your inkwork, metal armed isur." He stood up from the seat he had taken and gave him a traditional eypharian bow, his middle arms splayed out in such a way to make it ironic and sarcastic to his normally incredibly formal and honor giving gesture. At least if you were a fellow eypharian on both counts.

And of course, he would probably be seeing the prickly isur around the Demense all the more now that they had spoken.

[Crylon Stonecraft]

Crylon watched the man as he stared at Crylon. Motioning with his eyebrow as if to imply a questioning of Crylon's words. He however understood his words, and meant his words, else he would not have said them. Considering things, the mans words and actions, he was fairly certain the man was trying to manipulate him to some end. To get Crylon to ignore the multi-armed mans earlier rudeness, to go around the topic without even answering it, or perhaps to make Crylon feel as if he was in the wrong for being protective of himself in the situation. And yet... He felt the man was annoying in his attempt to do so. And, something that perhaps meant far more to an Isur than an Eypharian, and something Crylon had already mentioned to him once before, while he said quite a lot he still had not told Crylon his name. Names had meaning to Isur, and withholding ones name, particularly after being asked for it, seemed quite rude to the Isur. Meeting the mans gaze, Crylon considered his response before speaking. “You rude. Stop with being jerk. Then maybe people be friends. Is how most people do things.” “Is not have bump to get attention. Is call make words, speak and when ready will speak back. Is rude though, person not know well, not even know name or give own name first, asking of things and watching as doing things.” A point of the mans words poked out in Crylons mind, having had his work called art. While he felt there was an artistic nature to things, and aesthetics could be added on, such things were secondary to function. And art in and of itself had no function, only its in combined usefulness with other functions aesthetics truly come forth. Art though... That was pure aesthetics without function, something for lazy people or those who had nothing better to do with their time. Or perhaps something to while away a few chimes in between tasks. He was many things, an artist was not one of them. While there was nothing truly secretive about his work, he did not feel like telling him anything more than he had to. Something he likely would have done to anyone asking properly and nicely. “Not making art. Is look like art person? Is doing work. Isur not do aesthetics alone, is second. Is make for reason.” “For instance, my name Crylon. Is greeting by tell name. Maybe nice person, before be rude and insult work, and watch without saying, is give name.” While it might not mean much to a non-Isur, to an Isur his use of a single name was as pointed as the Eypherians bow. Crylon simply ignored this gesture, the bow, something he saw as a pointless platitude and another sign of the man trying to work or guilt him, when a simple nice query would likely have worked. If the Eypherian wanted to leave Crylon would not stop him, but neither would he cede ground to someone who had began things as this one had. WC: 515

[Wa'Djinnabi]

Djinn's first response to the short man's words was to stiffen his spine and begin an angry tirade. His simple curiosity was being twisted into an accusation of a social faux pas. It was frustrating, this new world had all these strange and arbitrary rules that were so very different from the strange and arbitrary rules that he grew up with. He was opened his mouth to unleash anger and bile but instead closed it and his shoulders slumped, his entire demeanor deflating before the Isur. He couldnt help wonder why he bothered. A hand went to the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache coming in. He gave a resigned look and nodded, "Fine. I am Wa'Djinnabi Psomatic re Ahnatep." Honestly, he had hoped to not have to say his name, it was a bit of a mouthful. "You looked busy and I did not want to interrupt whatever you were working on." He waved his to the pictograph of an anvil. "My people appreciate many arts, if it is liked, it has valued. If it is not art what is it?"

Honestly, he felt the man was probably the rude one. He still felt that coal of resentment about the topic but... it wasn't really worth arguing with him about it. If he was offended, he as offended and all he could do about that is attempt to control his own reactions, at least in this particular case. Crylon wasn't even human, so he probably had his own set of culture and beliefs and Djinn probably stepped on one of the obscure rules of the isur's social conventions. Oh well.

He blinked slowly at the isur, his interest much diminished from the initial curiosity. "Your people must be strict to need everyone to introduce themselves immediately." He said in a near monotone, "It seems like it would be..." He paused as he groped for a word, "Heavy? Slow? To have to begin all talking and being with names and titles. My people often do not and will strike up a conversation before official introducing, at least in public areas." He gestured absently to the area they were in, the movement limp and without enthusiasm. He took a few long strides to recover his porridge and returning to once again be in comfortable speaking range with the rude man. He started to spoon a few mouthfuls of the savory gruel into his gob as he looked on at the isur and his work.

It was a puzzle, what could possibly be useful about a picture of an anvil beyond art?


My words

Their words

[Crylon Stonecraft]

Crylon waited. And pondered. And watched, as the multi armed man considered in turn. He was in no rush, not really needing to continue his work right away as he did have some time. And besides, it was partly the principle of things. It would be rude of him at this point to ignore the man and go back to his work while he was still there without at least giving him some more time to respond and make nice. If he did, well then good. If he did not, then well enough. It would perhaps be clear from his mannerism, how he sat and positioned himself or how he talked, that Crylon was not in any rush and was not upset or blistering in his retorts. No, he was more akin to someone pointedly but calmly alerting someone to a particularly odd shaped cloud. Such was his concern over the outcome of the interaction. He certainly cared and was much less emotionally invested than the man with many arms. While Crylon waited the man seemed to give in, ceding ground to the Isur who handled things with the patience of a mountain. Not easily nor quickly worn down, nor influenced one way or the other, Crylon perhaps was better able to handle such arguments for being somewhat uncaring in if he won or lost them. Once he spoke his name Crylon spoke it back to him in his best attempt, sounding out the name bit by bit, which perhaps for a non-Eypherian was not too bad. “Wha-Jin-Nah-Bee, So-mah-tick, Ray, Ah-nah-tep.” As he said it Crylon considered the name, not fully understanding but getting bits. A long complex name, a second shorter and less complex name, some kind of honorific or such, and then a final name... A city? A family? A clan? From the context it seemed the last was that, but he could not recall if he had heard. “Is Ah-nah-tep, is different others. Is mean?” Considering his words Crylon relaxed a bit in his seat, pondering the mans response and his own in return. “If was working, serious working, would not be here. Would be in room, or forge, or place. If here, in open, then am open with working if other ask first. All is work, but not all so serious as some.” Gesturing at his depiction, Crylon pondered for the words in common to explain his task he had been working at. “Is not art. Though in all, is aspect of make art. But not art at core. Is... Mmm... Word of magic, to make of control and influence with depictions and things... Is... Ward. Symbol... Glyphing, ah yes to Glyph! Is word. Had forgotten common word for.” At the mans comment on speaking and introductions, Crylon let a small smile tweak his lips before he responded. “Isur not in rush, same as human, as others. Is prolly cause by age. Human live not long, not much time to do things. Isur live longer, slower, so more time for such things, perhaps. So perhaps you race age similar, to humans... I sume then, you also as young as other humans about here?” It was true enough, seeing as in human years Crylon would be at the waning years of his life, while as an Isur he was still relatively young. This fellow, Crylon reminded himself, was likely just as young as all the others he had met excepting a few of the humans who were quite elderly. He did consider the mans words though, as perhaps simply being a quirk of his people and their customs rather than outright rudeness... To a degree. Though how a civilized society could go about in such a manner was beyond him.