A Meeting Overdue (Osd)

[Thomas Cosa]

55th of Winter, 513 AV

Stranger had lead the pulser wizard easily enough through the Citadel, but that was as expected. Thomas had changed the golem's body almost immediately after arriving to the isle, deciding the follower body would be much more suited to the isle -- the travel body had it's advantages, but it moved far too slowly to be considered useful as a guide. Besides, should he ever need it again, it would be only a matter of switching out the gems.

The golem beeped occasionally, flashing gems catching the magically crafted lights of the lower levels. Thomas had always considered visiting the Forges, it was, after all, where all of the parts he ordered were crafted. His last position, master apprentice, hadn't offered him much in the way of free time, but as Wizard, he could finally make the trip.

"Much left to go, Stranger?" Thomas called after the follower, picking up his feet in an attempt to catch up; after a season of having Stranger tied around his neck, it was odd having to yell after the golem.

"No, Wizard Cosa," Stranger responded, Thomas smiling at the title. He was still living the high that came after the promotion, having yet to deal with anyone higher in rank than the animator. As such, he hadn't heard no, or better still, no one had threatened his life in a long while -- the pulser was practically skipping with joy. Perhaps Sahova wasn't truly a horrible place, perhaps, as a wizard, he could finally reap the benefits of the undead citadel, perhaps --

"Destination reached, Wizard Cosa."

Heavy doors creaked, protesting the wizard's arrival, groaning as they pulled themselves open; a blast of burning air escaped the enclave.

"Oh."

It was all the pulser could manage, nothing had impressed him so since he first saw the entirety of Lab 15. Golems of huge sizes patrolled and worked the massive forges, fountains of lava bubbling and burning their way through the stone made stations; the clank of iron against iron, steel hammering steel, echoed generously over the scalding air. The pulser slaves seemed to be far more muscled and well fed then the rest of the Citadel -- but Thomas supposed that would be necessary, working in these conditions. They were by no stretch of the imagination healthy, but supported enough to survive, at least long enough to be worth their purchase.

Looking around, the animator spied the closest slave -- or apprentice or wizard or even master, he mused, doubting anyone would wear anything distinguishing themselves, and so valuable, while working one of the lava forges. Still, he decided the person as good as any to ask.

Careful to stay away from the bubbling, burning fire liquid, Thomas made his way over to the station, and asked,

"I can order here, correct?"

[Osd]

Osd dropped the last piece of his order into the bin and called the golem too come and get it. He didn't have to wait long before another bin was deposited next to him. He snatched up the order paper and looked inside of the bin. Noticing the bars of metal inside. 'he only needs Fourteen bars worth of pewter? That's an easy one for once.' He thought as he picked the smelting pot out of the rack of tools and sat it next to the anvil. He took out the raw materials. 'Right, nine and a half tin and half copper makes ten bars. So for the other four bars..' he frowned as he tried to calculate that. 'nine and a half, divided by ten makes nintyfive hunderest I think.. Times four. 3 and eight tenths.. If I'm not wrong.' It was more of a guideline anyway since he didn't have the tools to accurately measure the tents anyway. He cut a bar in half and dumped nine whole bars and the half bar in it. Then he added three more whole bars, cut three tenth's off the bar and dropped the remaining half bar and the three tenth's into the pot as well. He then cut the copper bar in half and dropped it in the pot. 'I need four bars worth of metal in total, so that's two tenths.' He cut off the amount of copper from the bar and dropped it in the pot. Just as he was going to put the pot into the forge though somebody called out to him. He paused for a short moment too look at the person. Tall, dark haired and very much looking out of place in the forge.“yeah you can.” He said going back to his work, putting the smelting pot on the hook in the forge. Keeping an eye on the heating metal. He didn't bother turning away from his work anymore as he continued talking. “If you think the normal business of requesting stuff is going to slow you can go to us directly yes. It'll cost you something though. Depending on how big the order is.” He pulled out the bar molds included in the order and put them neatly together. He gave another quick look towards the smelting pot. The lava forge was doing it's work quickly. Still he needed a bit more time. “So what do you want to order?” He didn't pull his eye off the melting metal.

[Thomas Cosa]

"I'll be needing a general order for golems, something Lab 15 would make, but on a smaller scale," Thomas shrugged, curiously eyeing the worked forge; it hardly bothered the wizard pulser that the worker blatantly refused to meet his gaze, but Thomas could understand, and even appreciate, the focus he gave to his work. Still, the animator found it odd that he was barely given a once over, or that the worker hadn't even cared to look at his hand -- something the animator had taken to habit since rings had become the markers of status and alliances throughout the isle.

"A slave, then," Thomas mused, his Djed bubbling and rising like a boiling stew, growing and pushing against his self -- whoever he was, his nonchalance had intrigued the young mage, and more importantly, Thomas needed to establish exactly who he was talking to. His breathing slowed, becoming more rhythmic, louder even, something the pulser wizard had began to use a meditative aid. His breathing was something easily controlled, and easily heard -- something he could keep track of, and better still, something to keep him attach to what was actually happening while his mind dwelled into foreign auras.

Colors and scents and tastes exploded over the worked, Thomas focusing on him alone -- the rest of the forges dulled out of view, becoming unimportant and uninteresting.

His aura pulsed in rhythm with his breath, vibrant golds and yellows rotating slowly along the borders, making lines and patterns within the aura, not daring to mix; focus perhaps? Thomas focused more intensely on the patterns, circles mostly, and noticed they movements of colors sped up closer to the hands, and the head. Work ethic? Was it more of a natural setting to his aura, telling the mage about his general state, or was it a reflection on what he was doing?

He frowned, stumped. It would get easier, he knew, but Thomas also understood he would need to practice -- and as of now, most of what an aura could tell him was generally vague.

"You mentioned a cost as well?" He asked, obviously disconnected from the conversation. Hot washed uncomfortably over him -- whether it was due to his own proximity to the lava pits, or something the worker's aura was emitting was lost to the pulser; he just knew he didn't like it, whatever it was. Stepping away from both the person and the forge, Thomas realized he felt no magic coming from the worker. Nothing besides the echoes of his pulse, the pleasant warmth that was his life and breathe, but no electric prickling rub his skin, no smell of raw iron, of power.

He was a slave.

"Still, though. A slave with a skill could be useful," he considered, focusing agin back on the slave's aura -- what more could he divine from it's colors?

[Osd]

“Something Lab 15 would make you say. Would you care to be a bit more specific? There are as many golem designs as there are stars in the sky and rocks in the ground. If not more. I can make ye gears, cogs, springs and a lot of other stuff as long as you're specific enough. I know nothing about the animator's craft.” The blacksmith simply said as he carefully observed the melting pot. Narrowing his eyes a bit as he didn't see any unmolten pieces anymore, the alloy looked uniform enough to him as well. “back up a bit. I rather not spill all over you. Molten metal gives a nasty burn.” He gave a single curt warning to the animator and with a pair of thick tongs took the melting pot out of the forge. With quick movements he moved to pot over towards the molds he had set up earlier. 'right, steady and quick, can't let it get hard.' He carefully began filling the mold by tipping the pot slightly and pouring the red hot molten pewter into the ready molds. He completed the task quick enough, though the mixture had started to cool when he came tot he final mold at least there were only a few pewter spills he would have to clean up later. He set down the melting pot back on the rack and carefully stepped away from the molds. Before finally looking at the wizard. It was clear that he found not messing up with his work more important then to appear polite. It was obvious why this behavior was tolorated. His work was more important then politeness. His work was even more important then himself and he was fully aware of that fact. If he didn't make his quota for to long. Well then it was off to the testing grounds with him. And not as the tester. “Yea. You're asking us to put in extra effort to get your stuff done in between the regular orders. Nobody is going to do that for free. Specially not in this place.” He gave the man a look over. But more importantly noticed the small animated companion next to him. Was it recording? The overseers weren't against the blacksmith's taking on aditional work as long as they got their orders done on time.

[Thomas Cosa]

Circles of champagne gold spun neatly in place, faster around the head and hands, rubbing together, or with smaller, tighter circles of honey yellow; "Like gears," Thomas mused, finding the notion of a mechanical aura entertaining. He decided the slave's aura would be better suited to a machine, or a golem even -- something set in their way, set to purpose, something without feeling.

"Oh. More specific?" Thomas echoed, attentions divided hopelessly between following the conversation, and following the aura's changes and deciphering it's meaning. "No, uh, I just want whatever they'd usually order. Just a smaller amount of gears, pulleys, whatever," he said, barely managing to catch the oncoming blaze of heat from the melted alloy; it's aura too burned brightly, changing shades, going darker and darker, it's aura becoming more solid as it cooled.

Perhaps starting with something so simply non sentient would be easier to practice with -- considering the changes and meaning of it's aura would be so practically testable.

"Monotonous, maybe?" he thought, frowning. The pulser mage's attentions returned to the slave's aura. He found the general size interesting as well -- a good size smaller than most of those he'd seen on the isle, but Thomas supposed this was expected of people without magic. He had seen the same, more or less, among the peoples of Ravok.

"But you don't take coin...," his word's trailed off, a smile of discovery tugging at his mouth, "Repetition," he considered, realizing the spinning colors slowed as the slave finished his work. It would be, he imagined, fairly easy to fall into the monotony of slave work on Sahova. The connection he had made between the mechanical displays of the aura clicked as well, so to speak -- after all, a basic animation could only do the same thing over and over again.

Much like a slave on Sahova.

"So how do I pay you...whatever your name is?" His voice caught a higher tone at the end, indicating a question that was expected to be answered; his head title to the side as the slave's aura's faded, the patterns dissolving in a background of sunny yellows and burnt golds. Another change.

But first, he needed to make sure of his first observation. And after all, there was no better practice than a slave -- they were allowed to live to answer his questions, after all, or so Thomas believed.

"One question, if I might. Were you bored with the work you just finished? Did you find it repetitive at all? Easy, perhaps repetitively so?" Thomas questioned, still catching every change the aura made -- even if he wasn't sure of the meaning.

[Osd]

'at least now we're going in the right direction. Still not there though.' “Nobody here knows who or what lab gives us which orders. We just get a bin with the order, we make the order put it in the bin nad the golems deliver it for us as far as we know.” He held up his recent order to prove his point. He tried to mask his annoyance at the wizards inability to comprehend the fact he honestly didn't know what that lab of his usually ordered. So no matter how many times he asked the usual but smaller for lab 15 it wouldn't change the fact he couldn't help them. “Probably to prevent any meaningfull act of sabotage. If you don't know who you're screwing over, sabotage is useless. Petch if I know.” He went back to the order at hand. “So gears,pulleys and whatever. I can give you gears and pulleys. Not watevers. Which alloy do they have to be made of? How large do the gears have to be? How many of them do you want Be specific. Ten, fifteen? Ten of thirty across and 3 of five?” He asked his questions, trying to narrow down the order to something he could work with. He dispised guesswork even more then his slavery. Which was why he didn't like spending much time with wizards. Always a guess what they did next. “No I don't. Where would I spend it? What value are miza's to one who can't exchange them? Shyke's worth more then miza's down here. At least that burns.” He bluntly said. Giving a quick glance to the cooling bars of metal. Still not done. “I'm osd messer. As for how you pay me. Extra meals are a common thing offered. But whatever you think that's of value to us slaves is on the table if you can get your hands on it.” He gave the man a strange look at his question. That question came literally out of nowhere. Still he knew better then to talk back to wizards. Especially with what happenend last time. “Bored not really, repetitive more like it.” the question why was burning on his lips. But he knew better then to poke into the affairs of wizards. Because you were flammable and lots of wizards could throw around fire.

[Thomas Cosa]

The aura discolored unevenly, the golden hues dampening to a deep brown, black dots beginning to spot the slave's impression, rippling and spreading like a sickly oil. Thomas grimaced, an imagined gel brushing against his fingers unpleasantly, imagined fingers poking and prodding at his digits.

"Annoyance," he thought, pulling his arms from his sides, crossing them uncomfortably. It had to be, and it was almost certainly focused on him; or on something he had done. His own confusion tainted the air, an awkward, unidentified scent filling his nostrils. Thomas frowned. Confusion and annoyance were common enough to the pulser to where he could identify them easily enough -- still though, as to why Osd was feeling what he was feeling, the animator could only guess.

He had made a simple order after all, hadn't he?

"I wouldn't know," Thomas shrugged, his voice hardly above a whisper. A small headache began to build right below his eyes, his hands numbing slightly. He wondered, almost absent-mindedly, if overgiving would effect whatever sense that had been most used. If he had heard the annoyance, the confusion, the slave's aura, would he go deaf?

Still, he had time to continue his casting. Besides, he was making actual strides with his magic. He was learning.

"I'm not the best gadgeteer, so parts aren't really my thing," he answered, still following the slave's aura for any changes -- the spots of annoyance seemed to grow as he talked, spreading in ripples against the golden backdrop.

Was it that he hadn't come prepared?

"Is it my order? Or my lack of one?" Thomas wondered aloud, not registering he was actually speaking. A slight buzzing began to hear in his left ear, his vision slightly blurred. "Extra meals can be arranged," he answered curtly, annoyed himself by his own limited ability. Already he was coming to close the boundary of overgiving -- but still, he convinced himself he was getting far too much out of the exchange, as an aurist, to stop. He was progressing.

The aura shifted again, fading to a translucent gold, a warmth filling Thomas -- he couldn't identify it quickly enough, before the aura changed again, filling with a deep hue of yellow, a snapping cold biting at Thomas and --

He stopped the flow of magic, the world remaining at it should have.

"I was right then. Repetitive work," he nodded, obviously pleased with himself, "And just then, you were annoyed with me? Correct?" Thomas asked, dumb with certainty. It never occurred to him that he shouldn't be asking so many question -- especially ones so very blunt. In Sahova, you never knew who was listening.

[Osd]

When the man dared to say that he didn't know the answer to his questions he gave the man a withering glare, when he then asked if he was annoyed with him you didn't need to use auristics of any sorth that the shorter man's patience had finally decided that it had done enough work and just let him at. “Yes I'm petching annoyed at you and yes it's your lack of a concrete order.” He ground out. “You're not the best gadgeteer? You don't need to bloody tell me that. I know that you aren't the best gadgeteer. The way you're talking about what you need I'm doubting that you're actually a gadgeteer at all. You don't know what you need, but you still dare come down here and talk to us, wasting your time, my time and the time of everybody who is waiting on their bloody order.” Osd bluntly stated as he began emptying the molds and dropping the bars in the order bin. “I'm just low on the totempole. All you managed to do now is piss me off and let me lose my patience. What if next time you are talking like this to a master? He asks you what you need for a project and all you can do is say that you don't know when he asks for specifics? You'll look like a fool and fool's aren't tolerated here in sahova you know that." He stared the man in the eye for a few moments before calling the golem to pick up the full order bin. “Look, I know you don't have to take my advice. But next time. Try to think before you act, try to know what you need before asking for it. It saves everybody a lot of grief and time. Might save your skin in the future as well.” He grunted out, the golem brought him another order crate and began reading his next order.

[Thomas Cosa]

Thomas smiled, both happy with his correct guess -- so the slave was annoyed with him -- and interestedly amused with the seemingly, at least to him, unwarranted outburst.

"No. Perhaps calling myself gadgeteer was a bit presumptuous," Thomas said pointedly, his words sharp with a cold focus that hadn't been there before; slowly, the blurred colors sloshed and waved unnaturally, it was difficult for Thomas to keep his eye on the blacksmith, but he managed, "But I am talented enough with animation to have garnered the attention of Mashaen," he added, almost immediately regretting it. Thomas mentally cursed himself, knowing he had only bothered naming his patron in a pathetic attempt to stoke his own ego. His wizard's ring named hims loyalties, he had no other reason besides pride to name them himself.

"I wouldn't be so blatant, or so completely unprepared had I expected to find a master here. I wouldn't have survived so long on the isle if I had been so stupid," he paused, reeling in his urges to end the remark with an insulting slave. There wasn't any real need to -- Osd wasn't competition, and like he said, the blacksmith was already so low on the totem pole it wasn't like his opinion matter much, if anything at all.

"I decided to visit the forge in an effort to sympathize myself with the less fortunate of the Citadel. The magically imparied, if you will," The lied rolled off his tongue easily, Thomas only coming in an effort to see the forges and the golems that worked beneath -- he wanted to question them, not the slaves, to see the level of programming they had and to see if he could improve them, add more of his own golems in the midst of the citadel.

It was one route to power after all.

Osd had merely been a happy coincidence. Thomas had thought he would have had to request a slave with blacksmithing ability, or borrow the skill from a golem -- meeting Osd had given him an entirely different idea all together; he wondered if he could get a personal slave, one to work on his projects alone.

But this relationship was quickly souring. And the animator needed to prepare that and quick.

"Exactly how much do they feed you, anyway? More than the average slave or apprentice, I'd bet," he paused, looking over the slave.

[Osd]

Osd was far from impressed with the cold and sharp tone that the wizard addopted. Words didn't really carry much weight when somebody had tried to murder you with magma and earth in the same season. It kinda deadenend you to the entire sharp words thing just a little bit. He just shook his head when the man said he wouldn't expect to find a master here. “Actually a few magecrafters, including the chief magecrafter come down here in the forge to work on their trade or just to keep their skills sharp. With a bit of luck you could have been talking like that to a master or ones whose opinion actually matters.” He informed the arrogant mage in a blunt tone. “most don't wear their rings or any kind of robes.” He gestured towards the lava lake. “It's kinda hazardous to have such things on your person while working.” He diverted his attention back to the order. Letting out a small chuckle as he saw he needed to make steel gears. What a bloody coincidence. Maybe one of the overseers was listening in and getting some amusement by playing up the irony. “Also, if you've been around for a long time, you probably should have known already that you always need to be prepared. Because everybody is always watching.” He took the the molds he was supposed to use out of the bin. Looking for the inscription that said how much metal would be needed. Absentmindedly listening to the man's speech. He read the inscription on the mold, half a block was an entire gear. He took a quick count of the amount of molds he had been given. 'four molds, so melting down two and a half of iron should be enough.' He gave a look at the melting pot, a bit of pewter still clinging to the insides, it wasn't glowling anymore, so it was cool enough to touch with his tools agains. He scraped it out of the pot with a practiced ease, making sure nothing managed to stay behind that could contaminate the next melt. “Yeah, sympathizing yourself doesn't usually work well when you call them impaired.” 'highly doubt we are the impaired ones as well. All you mages are worse then batshit insane at times.' he mentally added. He pulled out three bars, heated up one briefly and then cleaved it in two. Dropping the two and a half bars in the smelting pot he put it back in the forge. “How much I get fed? Two meals a day, sometimes a bit of meat on there as well.” He brusquely said, his attention mostly occupied by the smelting steel in the pot.