Baby Steps

by **Ingrid** on May 22nd, 2015, 5:28 am

65th of Spring, 515 AV

It was to be a new chapter in her life. Her mind buzzed with possibilities; the opportunity to work with masters of animation, to expand her knowledge in the field, to boldly go where no animator had.... "Oh!" she exclaimed, propelled upward and forward when the self-driven carriage hit a rut or some manner of rock that jolted her right out of her reverie.

The transport was a curious thing that she longed to understand. No driver to steer it. Completely self-sufficient so far as she could tell. She stuck her head out of the conveyance window to peer down the length of the carriage, getting a good waft of air through damp hair that clung stubbornly to her sweaty cranium. She squinted her eyes, peering over the bleak and broken land to where the Citadel was steadily increasing in size. Pursing her lips, she tried to estimate the distance when another jouncing of the carriage caused her to elevate until her head banged abruptly into the window frame, depositing her roughly back into the carriage. Ingrid straightened up, rubbing her sore head and vowing to redesign the confounding carriage for smoother rides in the future.

Ingrid had just enough time to drag her belongings out of the carriage before it resumed its locomotion, trundling back the way it had come. The main entrance to the citadel was impressively large and remarkably quiet. The raised portcullis seemed to beckon travelers in, but Ingrid could see no evidence of anything remotely alive outside its walls. With a shrug and a determined expression, she continued on inside.

Upon entering the vestibule, Ingrid had to stop and admire the spacious area with its distinctly Alahean architecture. The wide hall was filled with arched niches where homage was paid to the ancient leaders of Alahea in the sculptures erected there. She didn't know who the individuals were, but all of them appeared strong-chinned and steely-eyed - purpose clearly chiseled into their features.

From then on things began to really pick up pace. It all started when she was bombarded by small mousy golems, droning "follow follow" and with her demanding where they were going while inspecting their outer shells thoughtfully and following the flashing red lights on the end of their tails. In what she suspected was inefficient travel within the citadel, Ingrid began a tour of the place starting with the creepy courtyard and the unnatural fog that had her waving about her as she walked, keeping the faint red light of the golem in sight lest she get lost amid the tombs and gravestones - not particularly relishing the idea.

Ingrid's first matter of business was to find her private chambers so she could drop off her pack. Her arms and shoulders used to the toil in forges and workshops, could stand to strain a bit longer, nevertheless, she was sweaty and tired from the trip and looked forward to simply relaxing and observing her surroundings without encumbrance. The construct led her to a landing where a series of corridors extended into the distance, doors dotting either side. The golem stopped and wheeled about in a circle before informing her in its buzzing drone, "Destination, The Quarters."

She swung open the door and peered into her very own broom closet. Ingrid blinked. Took in the barred window, mat, and table with water basin in the span of a few ticks. She closed the door, walked a few meters down, opened another door. Promptly closed that door too. Was that golem mocking her? She glared as it followed her to the next portal, which she heaved open with more force than necessary. A half naked person stirred inside. "Sorry!" she squeaked, quickly shutting it. Releasing a sigh, Ingrid trudged back to the first room she had visited, dropping her pack unceremoniously down on the mat. "Well it will have to do," she muttered.

Straightening her shoulders and sliding a loose tangle of red hair from her face, she said, "Take me to my workshop." To which the golem seemed more than happy to oblige with its predictable "follow follow", rolling down the hall as she tried to keep pace with it. Wondering briefly if the directive had been clear enough or if she was bound to end up anywhere in the citadel. Only time would tell....

by **Ingrid** on May 23rd, 2015, 6:23 am

"Destination, Gug Andjak." announced the golem as it dodged foot traffic rather adeptly. The main hall of Gug Andjak was massive with a vaulted ceiling that rose high overhead. The structure rivaled some of her homeland architecture in scale. To think this was but one of many levels truly boggled the brain. Many robed people hurried along, seemingly uninterested in conversing with their neighbors. Ingrid didn't blame them. She wanted to get started on her own projects right away. With that, she followed the migration till it thinned and diverged where several doors offered intriguing possibilities.

Peeking into one dimly lit chamber, she saw a gray-skinned bag of bones speaking before an unblinking audience.

"Further more, a portal linking this side to the other realm may be stabilized with the usage of glyphs," said the speaker before the room got silent as the grave and all eyes shifted to Ingrid, standing unannounced in the doorway.
"Um. Yes indeed. I was just leaving," she said in a barely audible voice and hurried out. At least she knew where to find the Lecture Hall.

Ingrid entered a laboratory next. Therein she saw various chemical and magical experiments being conducted. A violent reaction off in the far corner left a puff of blue smoke and its conductor blinking and inspecting the contents of a vial before frowning down at his peeling arm. Ingrid frowned too. While she was interested in the wonders taking place, none of it seemed geared to Animation. Nor did she spy any tools she was used to handling. No forge, no anvil, no gizmos or gadgets. She left the laboratory, and continued her search.

She found herself in a proper workshop at last! There were gears and hammers! Clamps and scraps of metal! One of these Ingrid took lovingly to her breast, whirled a bit as if she were dancing with the irregular shaped bronze alloy. Someone's gray-hand jerked the hunk of metal out of her arms, causing her to spin all the faster. She managed to catch herself on the lip of a stone work bench, noticing a thin man with mottled skin and greasy unkempt black hair gazing balefully at her a moment before he set the metal back down on the table.

Ingrid wandered about the workshop, peering unobtrusively over the ongoing projects. One man engraved a shiny breastplate with intricate glyphs. Another man engraved what appeared to be a human skull with runes that glowed fiercely with dark magics. She halted and looked over the shoulder of a woman working on animation. The familiar rings of source and destination carefully drawn out on the floor, linked by a single line of power. Ingrid sighed happily - she was finally home.

by **Ingrid** on May 25th, 2015, 8:22 pm

Ingrid stood at rapt attention. Observing the process from a short distance away so as not to disturb the animator and her work. She saw the woman kneel before a caged animal in the source circle. It appeared to be some species of dog. Small of size with a coat of gray fur, an underbelly of white, and a tuft of orange in its bushy tail and long ears. Really unique were the two sets of pearly blue orbs which darted about playfully to mimic its flitting movements behind bars.

The woman's black hair was wildly astray (not that Ingrid was one to judge). She wore a dark robe that twisted inward over a bony frame as she bent over the circle. Ingrid realized (with a crane of neck) the animator was dragging a piece of chalk over the source, circumscribing an outer ring with concise glyphs. Ingrid squinted her eyes, studying the runes closely. Although she had seen glyphing done before in the silvery domain of Lhavit, she had never grasped the art herself. It was certainly something she had desire to pursue. The ancient art of glyphing had applications across the board as far as magic was concerned. Animation was no exception.

Having next to no understanding what the arcane symbols meant, Ingrid could not decipher how they modified or benefited the animation process. She noted a similarly marked outer ring about the destination circle. In its middle rested a wooden interpretation of the canine creature. The carpentry work was extraordinary.

A roughly conical head connected with a cylindrical body. The most impressive feature of the wood construction was the intricate joint-work of the legs and neck which would allow the construct to perform many of the same actions the animal close by could do - though admittedly not near as explosive. Wood was a good medium, but no substitute for cartilage, tendons, muscle fibers, and bone. The animator she had been watching stood up stiffly and turned toward her.

Ingrid could scarcely see the chalk that dusted her hands, so pale was her skin. Her countenance also held a sickly pallor. Her eyes were deeply set in hollowed eye sockets. It was a flat dead gaze, like that of a fish that lingered upon her. Ingrid stared right on back, scrutinizing the nuit as if trying to puzzle it out. The nuit animator moved over to her, with more grace than a shuffle, but still not with the dexterity one would characterize live beings to possess.

Ingrid saw there was a flesh wound on the nuit's forearm and without thinking, she moved to her and carefully took her arm to inspect the wound. "Oh! You've hurt yourself," she said, peering down. Perhaps it was not a selfless act entirely. Part a ploy to get closer and understand the nature of these nuits. The wound being a perfect excuse to do so. But Ingrid had grown up in a magical city where people looked out for one another, where everyone played their part for the betterment of the whole. She did not see why that logic should not apply here in Sahova.

Oh how wrong she was!

Ingrid saw no blood seeping from the wound. Only a splotch of green-tinted fluid with an odor that reminded her of cemeteries leaked from the flap of tissue. Ingrid was shoved back with a yellow-nailed hand, and not gently.

"Lay hands on me again, pulser, and it will be your meat-sack I occupy," she said in a chilling voice that lacked all of the expected vehemence but was no less poignant a threat for its absence. The nuit animator wasted hardly any time referring to her notes, the incident with Ingrid seemingly long forgotten.

Ingrid blinked and rubbed at her own arm where the woman's nails had left shallow depressions. One might of suspected the ginger would give up any further conversation with the nuit. And those who did so would be entirely and utterly incorrect. If Ingrid lacked anything, a respectable supply of stubborn foolhardiness was not it.

Following the nuit's forget-the-past mentality, she spoke on as if the animator nuit and her were on good terms. "You're correct. Everyone should respect the personal space of his or her fellow man. Um and fellow nuit with utmost care. I apologize," she said. Having gotten that out of the way, Ingrid moved closer to the nuit and stole a glance down at the writing on the parchment. It was a detailed step-by-step report on her animation project. How interesting...

"It's just...well...I've only just gotten here. It's all new to me. I'm a bit in the dark as to how I should proceed. I am aware of a test that needs to be passed in order to obtain apprenticeship here on the island of Sahova. What I lack is a clear understanding of the rules....," trailed Ingrid.

The nuit lady did not seem to be listening to her. It appeared she was being totally ignored. The lady drew away from the work table to walk slowly back to her circles of animation. Just when Ingrid was about to move away in search of answers elsewhere, a raspy voice was heard over the din of hammers and shuffling feet.

"You must pass judgement to gain apprenticeship. The next judgement is held on the 80th. You must demonstrate yourself worthy to serve under minds you could not even begin to comprehend, pulser. If your efforts prove remotely interesting, you will be granted permission to stay. If you fail to do so......," the nuit only then turned from her work to stare blankly at Ingrid. "You will be dismissed from Sahova immediately."

The finality of that statement seemed to echo in her mind. Ingrid streamed out a dozen or so questions that went unanswered. Save for one...

"Where is the forge around here?"

"You speak of Yachluria. Fully automated by golems. Located in the third basement to the northeast. You do not have permission to access the forge until you are an apprentice," she intoned without any hint of emotion. Although Ingrid could swear a shadow of a smirk crossed the nuit's face after delivering the depressing news.

Ingrid cursed and demanded to know how she was to impress the judges if she did not have the proper resources to do so. The nuit was inconveniently silent after that. Cursing, Ingrid soldiered on despite the rotten news. She would pass the test, no matter what obstacles got in her way. Ingrid tore through boxes of parts, parceling out gizmos that looked even remotely promising. After three bells she had half a box full of things, this she lifted onto a workshop table. Ingrid wiped the dewy tangle of red hair from her forehead, smudging it in the process. She blew out her cheeks and flopped down on a stool.

Five chimes later she was snoring loudly at the table, clutching a metal tube in her hand possessively. Apparently the long trip and busy day had caught up to her.