Solo An Impressive Cloak

[Alses]

Timestamp: 45th Day of Autumn, 515 A.V.
Location: Elysium Hall

Alses felt the same electric thrill she always did upon entering a laboratory as the doors clicked shut behind her, heavy and reassuringly solid. Doubly so, in point of fact, because this was a new addition, a lab she hadn't been in before.

Time to get a feel for the place, then.

It was one thing to see a space on an architect's diagram, all neatly delineated and drawn with exquisite precision, and quite another to actually stand in what had been wrought, to see the walls and the floor and the ceiling – Alses craned her neck – up above.

It was chillier than she'd expected, all the empty space, and it echoed impressively, every footstep booming on the tile floor, crackling off the scalloped and decorated alcoves and humming between the ornate railings and catwalks that criss-crossed the upper reaches, the sound chasing tiny motes of dust from their hiding places and sending them down to sparkle like supernovae in the light flooding in through the long windows.

The skylights, up above, they threw bright patterns of light and shade onto the floor, and Alses, having climbed up to the first mezzanine, paused for a moment to admire the complex designs, her hands resting on the ornate balustrades and her eyes idly tracking the complex regressional shadows that the machinery further up was casting.

Machinery for moving and shifting, for carrying tons of weight so perfectly balanced it could be moved with a fingertip; golems were heavy, and Alses had future-proofed her laboratory. Everything from the smallest toy automaton to the biggest several-storey heavy lifter could be Animated here – all that would be needed was the skill and the metal.

Skill, she didn't have, not at the moment – but metal, ah, that was more easily bought. And small projects, over time, led to bigger projects; her magecraft was a case in point, the proceeds of one funding the next, and the next, with a little left over to pay for her lifestyle.

It all built up. To an extent, anyway – she doubted anyone, save perhaps Aysel and Talora, had the funds to afford the truly stupendous works of her magecraft, but the mid-range artifacts she could make, now those had a willing clientele amongst the wealthy.

For the night-time, Alses mused idly, eyes roaming lazily about the lab, there were more of the skyglass glowglobes in elaborate brass-claw sconces, a continuing theme throughout the whole of Elysium Hall. The fireplace, too, across the far wall; that could throw off a prodigious glow, if she built it high enough. The same could be said for the smaller furnaces around the place, designed for last-minute touchups of the golems that were the mainstay of an Animator's art – they could be stoked up high to raise the light and – probably more crucially, for Alses, especially with winter closing in – the temperature.

The laboratory was more than just an indulgence in sorcery, though; Alses had a Plan. The Shinya – competent though they usually were – had signally failed in their duty to protect her, and besides, as recent events had underscored, their loyalty was not to her. No, when the chips were down and the balloon went up – an odd expression if ever Alses had heard one – their loyalty was to the city, to the Day Lady and the Night Lord and Zintila Herself.

All well and good, of course, but given what had been happening of late, well, was it so bad to want a little personal protection? A smaller version of the Tower Guard that each of the great Houses had, to one extent or another.

Not for Alses the hassle and expense of actual flesh-and-blood, the sort that got bored and had to answer calls of nature; she wanted something a little different, something set apart from the Shinya. If they were going to raise her up on an artificial pedestal, as Lhavit did to all its Ethaefal, then she'd take advantage of that, and go for something more efficient. And durable.

That was in the future, though; although Lucis & Lucis were perfectly able to provide automaton shells – provided she gave them enough notice and a hefty bag of kina – her own skill at their Animation was rather lacking. Her best effort, at present, would grace an expensive and beautiful masterpiece of metalwork with the drooling competence of a lobotomized imbecile, at best.

In other words, a total waste of metal and money and time.

But – and this was something Alses had learned early, and learned well – she was an immortal Ethaefal, with an abundance of time and limitless opportunities laid before her. Alses could learn – even if Maeki was still so traumatized by the events of the recent past that she'd no longer teach.

Thus, the construction of the lab, future-proofed for when her skill matched her ambition, and affording her an abundance of space for the lesser projects that would, hopefully, see that very skill grow and blossom.

The first was, perhaps, a silly little thing, a frivolity. But then, frivolity was how she'd built her skill at auristics, at least initially, and now there were few indeed who would challenge her mastery in that field.

Besides, the particular frivolity she had in mind would also be useful for the new perspective it brought; Alses was planning to Animate her cloak with a dramatic rippling effect, of the sort that was normally only achieved by serendipity and the wind together.

Maeki had advised it – it had been one of the many future projects she'd outlined, when she was still a full-fledged person and Alses' Animation tutor instead of a gutted shell that drifted through life aimlessly. The aim, as Alses recalled, was to teach her finesse when it came to Animation, how to work with flexible materials that were more unforgiving and needed a rather lighter touch than metal.

That, in turn, would help her when it came to the delicate tasks of vocal cords, the corded cables that often served as muscles in the more advanced golems, the expansile membranes that made up diaphragms and the intricacies of clicking valves that went into the production of the more advanced automata of all stripes – from harlequin jesters to war machines.

She would have preferred to have the guidance of Maeki at her shoulder, calm and quiet and there, just in case something went wrong, but events and time were against her and that was no longer an option.

[Alses]

Alses took stock of her working materials – in this case, the cloak she was aiming to Animate, currently draped around the shoulders of a vaguely unsettling mannequin that Silver had rustled up from Syna alone knew where.

It was quite a piece of art, really, and, unusually for Alses' tastes, quite unadorned. Relatively speaking, anyway; much of its allure and impression came from the quality of its materials, instead, impressing subtly by the richness of its furs and the shimmer of its silks.

White was the overwhelming impression; soft, sleek furs made up much of the outer skin, reflecting all light and every smooth fibre gleaming from top to bottom. It was not, perhaps, her favourite colour – it never had been, even less than black – but this particular one had a quality that hinted at the other colours of the spectrum whilst still presenting that overall impression of white.

Alses didn't know from what furs it had been made, and hadn't asked. It had gold decoration, too – thin and subtle fancies, of intertwining leaves and flowers at its topmost part, where it wrapped over her shoulders and was secured at the front by a gold chain and clasp, and by heavier designs towards its hem, their weight giving it a pleasing heft and making it whisper as she moved.

The inside was silk, and again very pale – although this time it shone and winked in the light, colour shifting from white to shot-gold and back again as the light changed, drawing attention without screaming for it.

The billowing ripple effect that Alses intended to imbue the beautiful thing with would only enhance its eye-catching nature, but that was all to the good; quite a lot of leading, Alses had learned, was to do with looking the part.

That was probably why so many in Lhavit looked up to the Ethaefal – any Ethaefal. When one turned heads with one's very existence, when one's words were clung to and analyzed due to the very cadences they left in the air, was it any wonder there was a very small segue into formal leadership?

No matter, no matter.

Even if nothing else, it was practice – and a part of her wanted to see, if this was successful, what she could do with the dual-toned dupioni ruches of her favourite ballgown. Alses had a creeping suspicion that a subtle tremor in the massed layers would make it truly spectacular.

First things first, though: planning.

Silver had already rearranged her library slightly; the slim green-bound volume that was her working journal for Animation endeavours had been carefully, reverentially extracted from its shelf and laid, ready, on the desk in the lab, along with the essentials of quill pen, ink and sharpening knife.

He'd sourced a small bottle of drying sand and blotting paper, too, bless him. Not that she needed such things; a touch of Tanroa's Blessing took care of such mundanities, but it was nice that he'd thought of it nonetheless.

Alses settled carefully into the chair, shifting to get comfortable as she became accustomed to the new space and the little alcove which held all the necessities for the theoretical side of Animation. She gently opened the book – books were expensive, even in Lhavit, each one a work of art with its thick, creamy pages and elaborate bindings, and her current Animation journal was no different.

She took a moment to breathe in the scent of books, that indefinable combination of paper and leather and bookbinder's glue and just the faintest hint of rot that wafted from the still-new pages, before cracking the seal on a new bottle of ink with a practised hand and dipping her quill in the blacker-than-black ink, poised and ready to begin writing her thoughts, ideas, plans and concerns about her latest project.

Billow Cloak

The aim of this project is to create an Animation which can mimic the rippling and billowing behaviour evinced by the winds, and maintain this on even a still day. This state will be activated by closing the clasp at the front of the cloak, and deactivated by releasing said clasp.

This will be a useful project as it will require the development of finesse and care in Animation, to allow for delicate motion and working with softer and more yielding materials, as a precursor to more advanced work.

I will need, in addition to the base motion effect, to instil recognition of the two states of the clasp, to prevent the Animation from being perpetually active and disrupting my wardrobe.

Alses sat back and contemplated her handiwork thus far with a little smile. She'd always liked to lay out a summary – in fairly plain language – before delving into the finicky detail of each step and the acres of arcane notation that would guide her hand and those who came after her, if ever she wanted to consult her manual again.

She probably would; if not to make exactly the same thing then to see her guiding principles and use them in the creation of something greater. Or perhaps simply different.

So.

Where to start? Or rather, where to start for the best? Plotting the attachment points she'd need for the diaphanous Animated body she'd overlay onto the cloak, maybe? Or would her time be better spent in planning the Animation circle itself? Or maybe just writing the circle, since it stayed much the same from one incarnation to the next; the alterations would be minor, easily achievable by someone of her skill.

So many choices.

[Alses]

Cool and dark and gleaming, that was the resting state of her laboratories. This one had been purposed for animation in its construction, a towering intricate network of gantries and pulleys and chains criss-crossing its vaulted expanse, all of it focused on a perfectly circular patch of ceramic tile – the site of the doubled Animation circles and – at the moment – a dressmaker’s mannequin carefully draped with a shining cloak that was the very quintessence of white.

Alses’ feet boomed on the ceramic tile as she approached the circles, pacing around the exquisite curves and loops and whorls of her circle, its intricate chains of glyphs teasing and tantalising the eye. Bright white glypher’s paint glittered and sparkled in the faint lights – it was the evening, and Alses was a Konti shadow of her normal self.

She’d delayed the proper lights, too, for the moment, and so starlight danced in through the windows and shimmered with a spangled blue panoply of light through the skyglass fixtures and fittings, playing on her pale skin.

Pretty – but that wasn’t what she was there for. Not right now, in any case. As the glowglobes glimmered up to their more usual warm radiance, pushing back the shadows and the night, rendering even the most fearsome leaping silhouette back into the innocuous shapes of daytime, a soft and slightly sad little smile touched her lips.

Alses was remembering Maeki as she pottered around the circumference of the circles, dragging blackboards and lecterns into position and piling them high with papers and diagrams and reminders, motes of chalk dust dancing crazily in the air as she worked.

How much more pleasant it would have been, to be doing this in Maeki’s cozy, tea-scented studio, all the clutter pushed back to the walls and with the Animation instructor ensconced in her favourite chair and furred robe, kicking her legs to and fro like a child! How much nicer, to have another mage there, to discuss and debate and throw ideas around with, another set of eyes to scrutinize the work and point out the weaknesses, the flaws, the disasters in waiting.

Someone had put paid to all that, though, burning the place almost to the ground and leaving Maeki, whilst physically almost unharmed, a walking shell of a woman. It was as though all life and energy had been blown out of her body in an instant, and what was left was…heart-wrenching.

Particularly when compared to before.

Alses forced herself to stop thinking about that, and instead brought her mind back to the immediate intricacy of Animation, of the next step – the accretion and genesis of the Soulcore itself, the bitter mote of life around which all else revolved, in the discipline.

She stepped into the Source circle calmly, and sat down, adjusting her robes into pillowy cushions beneath her. The floor was surprisingly comfortable – but then, Alses had specified a skyglass base with the roughened tiles fused to its surface, and so the gentle heat of the divine material radiated comfortably up through the ceramic and into her body.

No flinching or wincing from perfidious cold, no cramps or chilblains for her. Good design ensured her comfort – and comfort was so important in the difficult and demanding process of Animation.

Ticks and chimes passed as Alses made sure she was comfortable and ready to begin – it was essential that she could remain in one place for an extended period without feeling the need to move, to itch, to scratch, to relieve pressure – which was another reason for flowing robes rather than form-fitting dresses.

[Alses]

Her eating-knife – never used for that purpose – sang from its sheath and pricked a sharp spike of pain in the flesh of her thumb, a brief red burst that was fading and gone almost as soon as it registered. A thick drop of bronze blood welled sluggishly from her flesh, the essential ingredient to sacrifice at the altar of Animation and gain mastery over her circles.

It glimmered in the light, quickly pressed to the ornate, swirling start-point of her elaborate, intricate glyphic circles, draining away with more than merely usual speed into the intricate interlinked webwork, as it did so its muddied, muddled impression on the world rising and brightening and brightening as the Animation glyphs set to work.

They stripped away anything that wasn’t the pure quill of life, freeing the threads of Alses’ soul up from the bloody source – and as they lifted, long streamers of sanguine peeling away and flaring into bright violet as they impacted on the venting glyphs, they began to glow, softly at first and then brighter and brighter with the fire-opal glitter and shimmy of Alses’ richly compound soul.

It was always an odd feeling, looking at a copy of one’s soul as it swirled and roared and danced around between the wavering, constraining barriers of the glyphs, seeing in its manifold radiations yourself writ large in rippling magic.

The sucking roar of it, the insistent and unstoppable pull the connection exerted – even though Alses had gentled it through her glyphs, had put slows and shifts and more organic acceleration sigils, anything to ease the draining tug to something more bearable. It seemed to be working – but then, Alses was still revelling in the joy of using her own circles, the natural responses from them, the deep level of familiarity that made so many of the finicky and difficult tasks of Animation that little bit easier, that little bit more intuitive.

Training with Maeki’s circles rather than her own had been a trial, forcing her to be absolutely technically perfect, working with an alien design and an alien feel for the magic rather than extensions of herself. It had made her technique flawless, it was true, over the long and gruelling afternoons of one failure after another, but she was so very glad to be free of the restraints.

Torrents of magic teased themselves up and out of her body, drifting in rainbowed plumes outwards until they hit the outer ring of glyphs; these caught and spun and ravelled and winnowed the tide of magic leaking out from Alses’ still form, greedily drinking in its peculiarities and peccadilloes, every little quirk and kink that marked the magic – with its imprint of her soul – as hers and hers alone, a sliver of fundamental self.

It propagated wildly, her circles drawing in the ambient djed of Mizahar and using it as raw material, copying the radiations of her soul until she was surrounded by a whirling, dancing, spinning ouroboros in all the shades of the rainbow, a rich panoply of colour and impossible light twisting and dancing and jinking within the constraints of her beautiful circles, alight and alive with pearly flame.

The twirling and twining strands of djed wrapped amorously around her, dancing across her skin with feather-light touches, the whole of it a hundred times more responsive and immediate, and Alses revelled in it, a beatific smile on her face as she bathed in the light of her own self.

The twining and twisting and half-contradictory pathways, the physical representation of at least a shadow of her patchwork self were as welcoming as an old friend, long unseen but fondly remembered and never forgotten, and Alses let herself sink blissfully into the welcoming warmth until it was hard to tell where she began and the whirling copy ended, each seeming to draw strength and solidity from the other.

[Alses]

Reluctantly, Alses pulled herself back from her wallow in evoked magic, languorously dragging mental fingers through the thick prismatic strands of it, seeing them blur and dance and craze and fracture, then heal, a dissonant diffraction pulse that shimmered round the entirety of the ring, introducing discord, and through it – difference.

Difference was essential – the copy of her soul would be just that, a copy, and it was intended for something far different than an Ethaefal body that dreamed of the Ukalas and drowned its sorrows and fears and anxieties beneath the razor scream of djed being put through the wringer, that sought mastery and dominion to raise up great works in praise of Syna and by such endeavours to close the gaping rip in heaven and heart both.

Besides, Alses wasn’t at all sure her circles – however familiar and well-crafted, however skilled she was at the actual glyphs which formed them – could cope with all the subtle nuances of her self just yet; she simply didn’t have enough experience, enough finesse – as the Dusk Tower would say, a fond mantra of theirs – to control the delicate reactions.

Not yet, anyway.

‘Which is why,’ Alses thought grimly, a flicker of iron determination flashing across her otherwise-beaming features ‘We are – as some will doubtless say – wasting our time on frivolities like this.’

It was perhaps a fair assessment – Alses had no actual need of a cloak that billowed all by itself; it was what purists might disparagingly refer to as a vanity item, since it had no concrete physical use. It was the sort of thing rich merchants might buy to impress their peers and minions and improve their own sense of importance – but whilst all that was certainly true, for Alses it had other uses.

It was a testbed, pure and simple, an experiment to see whether she could bring together the principles of Animation and successfully bind them to something as flexible as cloth and fur – and further, whether she could capture something as ephemeral as the billow of a cloak in the wind and write it permanently in as a behaviour.

First things first, though – there had to be the genesis of life, that spark that was the Soulcore – getting ahead of herself, dreaming of the grand projects in the future was a perennial problem for Alses, always skipping ahead and behind and having to focus to remain in the present and the ever-moving here-and-now.

Alses was good enough, now, with her glyphing, that her triggers could be fired with a thought, properly coded and directed, and so now, at the head of her curling ouroboros, the mental motion nauseatingly confusing her inner ear and with innumerable rainbow reins of control and direction bunched in her hands, she broadcast the trigger thought as loud and hard and focused as she could.

A split-tick later – as if time had any meaning in the depths of crafting! – one of the argent walls of the Source circle, previously entirely impassable, a shimmering pearlescent barrier without crack or flaw, crumbled silently away and allowed the Pathway it had barred to flare into full life, a sucking, inviting highway down which her magic and mind could roar untrammelled, rather than circling aimlessly as it had before.

She might have laughed, holding the ephemeral reins of djed and riding the uncoiling snake of magic as it thundered from Source to Destination, mind straining to keep the disparate parts of itself and its new-formed, unstable copy together, a prismatic tsunami that crashed joyfully into the carefully-prepared glyphs of the Destination circle and forced them into instant, responsive action.