Timestamp: 38th of Spring 514 AV
Two days until Judgment and Lenore beheld the wooden hand, resting upon the table. The nuit had taken to the laboratories again. Weighing the pros and cons of testing its creation before judgment. In the end, Lenore decided testing was a necessity. The researcher had laid out parchment, quill and ink for the test. The quill seemed almost too fragile, suddenly there was doubt the automaton could hold the utensil without snapping it. Easing the quill into its grasp, Lenore would have held its breath if such an action would have meant anything to it. “Scribbler write: F I R S T space M E A S U R E M E N T S line break” Everything went well until the Nuit uttered the word ‘break’. It happened faster than he could imagine, the hand had snapped the quill and struck at Lenore. Stunned in confusion Lenore had no chance to countermand the command before the hand reached its throat, crushing its windpipe.
Now a crushed a windpipe wasn’t precisely fatale for a Nuit of any kind, but it was very prohibitive to speech. As the Nuit stood frozen, wooden fist still gripping its neck, it began to recount how it had gotten here. the word ‘break’ had triggered something, but what? Lenore knew it hadn’t taught the automaton to be aggressive… but it also hadn’t taught it not to be. The internal sigh had to make up for the impossible external one. The mage’s commands were absolute, it had not taught it non-aggression and it had told the automaton to break. In a way it was admirable the automaton listened well. Though the hand wasn’t large enough to encompass all of Lenore’s neck, the nuit still felt it prudent to deal with the situation before any serious damage could occur.
Leaving behind the supplies the Nuit quickly made for the Hydrasa Palsa, someone there would be able to remove the hand. The bigger trouble would be no it would need to be destroyed. There was a serious flaw in its directives and this ultimately meant Lenore’s judgment project was a failure. The Nuit’s version of quick rarely moved above a brisk clip at the best of times. Today, on the other hand, Lenore found a second wind it had never imagined existed. Progress was aided by the odd stares eliciting a free path through the laboratories.
Two days until Judgment and Lenore beheld the wooden hand, resting upon the table. The nuit had taken to the laboratories again. Weighing the pros and cons of testing its creation before judgment. In the end, Lenore decided testing was a necessity. The researcher had laid out parchment, quill and ink for the test. The quill seemed almost too fragile, suddenly there was doubt the automaton could hold the utensil without snapping it. Easing the quill into its grasp, Lenore would have held its breath if such an action would have meant anything to it. “Scribbler write: F I R S T space M E A S U R E M E N T S line break” Everything went well until the Nuit uttered the word ‘break’. It happened faster than he could imagine, the hand had snapped the quill and struck at Lenore. Stunned in confusion Lenore had no chance to countermand the command before the hand reached its throat, crushing its windpipe.
Now a crushed a windpipe wasn’t precisely fatale for a Nuit of any kind, but it was very prohibitive to speech. As the Nuit stood frozen, wooden fist still gripping its neck, it began to recount how it had gotten here. the word ‘break’ had triggered something, but what? Lenore knew it hadn’t taught the automaton to be aggressive… but it also hadn’t taught it not to be. The internal sigh had to make up for the impossible external one. The mage’s commands were absolute, it had not taught it non-aggression and it had told the automaton to break. In a way it was admirable the automaton listened well. Though the hand wasn’t large enough to encompass all of Lenore’s neck, the nuit still felt it prudent to deal with the situation before any serious damage could occur.
Leaving behind the supplies the Nuit quickly made for the Hydrasa Palsa, someone there would be able to remove the hand. The bigger trouble would be no it would need to be destroyed. There was a serious flaw in its directives and this ultimately meant Lenore’s judgment project was a failure. The Nuit’s version of quick rarely moved above a brisk clip at the best of times. Today, on the other hand, Lenore found a second wind it had never imagined existed. Progress was aided by the odd stares eliciting a free path through the laboratories.
