75th of Spring 516 A.V.
8th bell
Shimoje awoke in a groggy state and did not feel like getting out of bed. After a while his sore muscles managed to pull him out of bed like a puppeteer would drag his doll across the floor. His room was mostly empty. All of the adventures to find information on his father had led him exhausted. He went through a lot of turmoil from all of it, but despite the turmoil he secretly liked it. The thrill and dangers of living on the wild side showed him excitement that he had never felt before. Today was his day though. It was his day to relax and just lounge around in the apartment.
Picking up his pack he removed a ration and started to eat it. He was used to the rations by now, and it helped save himself from going out and seeing people. He felt like every time he went out he put on a fake face to people, and never exactly spoke his mind directly to people. He didn’t really have the heart to let people down though. His conflicted attitude and thoughts on the way he socialized with others was really starting to bother him. Perhaps, this was another reason why he liked doing all of those things. It kept his mind off of things. Not an easy task; So far this season just after arriving to Syliras he had hunted down a group of drunken bandits, chased after a kriital, investigated a pranking thief, and other various things that led him into danger.
After eating Shimoje figured he would try his hand at carving once again. He usually kept wood around to practice his designs and to carve random things into them. Placing a block of wood on the table he went to get out his woodcarver’s toolkit, but just as he sat the wood onto the table he heard another wooden knock from the far end of his apartment. Someone was at his door? The last time someone had knocked on his door he got the really bad news that his father was dead. Perhaps this time it would be one of the new friends he made in Syliras from doing all those tasks. He would like to believe he made a name for himself, but that would be a very distinct lie. It was almost as if the knights and squires didn’t care about anything else besides beating each other up and pushing their own bodies to the limits by sparring. Shimoje wasn’t for that life, he would rather methodically train his body without injury, especially after the bruise on his ribs which despite being healed still caused the occasional sharp pain.
Shimoje got up frustratingly and answered the door, opening it up slightly to see if anyone was there. He saw no one and looked down to see if it was one of those pint sized pycons, but instead a single letter laid before his door. It was sealed and bore no distinct marks on the outside that would tell him who it was from. He picked up the letter and went inside closing the door and sat down. The letter read
“Dearest Shimoje,
I know I was not always there for you, and I should have been more present in your life. Now that you are out on your own I am worried for your survival. By the time you read this I most likely would be dead. There are some things that should not be explained, but I will trust this information with you. During my studies around Mizahar I came across a variety of information on the pre-valterrian era. During this age magic was profound and technological development was at a peak that mankind has not seen since. In my goals to create new life I came across a way to create life like animations, but they would often malfunction. However, I came across some way to inject souls into them, but it was ultimately it was that magic that led to my death. I failed both Izentor and you.
I am sorry son,
I hope you could forgive me, and I hope that you can succeed where I could not.”
Shimoje almost collapsed with anger, fear, and sadness. His mind could not take it. All this time for nothing. The long journey to Syliras was nothing but a joke. Why couldn’t he have just stayed in Zeltiva. In his anger he threw the wood on the table across the room. It slammed into the wall and hit the floor. He rushed over to his bed and plopped his body onto it and let out a few screams before ultimately breaking down and crying. He still had no idea how his father died, except that he died from trying to inject his soul into something and then animating it. What did all of this mean? Was his father killed by someone who figured out what he was doing, or was is actually the magic that killed him?
Shimoje had to find out. His flushed red face extended to his bald head and his cheeks seemed to sulk into his face from the flurry of emotions flowing through him, and then suddenly he went numb. It was as if everything around him didn’t matter anymore. He was conflicted and all of those emotions just seemed to turn him into a zombie. He picked up the letter that was left on the table and headed out the door. He walked slowly with his held up high and blank eyes. He didn’t say hi to anyone that he passed on the streets what so ever. The only place that he knew where to turn to was a store which practiced in the arts of the strange and the unusual.
He headed there without hesitation, without a second thought. He didn’t even know why or why he should after finding out the information he did. It was as if it was useless. He headed to the store which he had never dared to enter before. The Undeniable Interests. Shimoje hated clutter and the mess of the shop absolutely disgusts him, perhaps that is why he never ventured into it before. Once he arrived it was as if none of that even bothered him. He was still numb from the sheer amount of emotions that flowed through him. Inside the shop a series of cobwebs and dust covered everything.
“Welcome.” Came from a croaky old deep voice. The man seemed to throw his voice deeply and with a sense of knowledge. His older stature towered of Shimoje’s and all Shimoje could do is hand the letter to him. He stood there for a while reading it very slowly and as if it mildly piqued his interest he said just a few more words. “Seek a mage. I think a lab is in Winthrope Alley. Not sure though. ”
Shimoje grabbed the letter back from the old man with not even a thank you and left the store. He didn’t speak a single word. He walked for what seemed like a century looking for the alley, and finally he arrived to an uninviting door. Surely this rather daunting looking area would be his lab. With a few loud knocks Shimoje’s green eyes pierced through the doors and he would not leave until his beckoning was answered.