Solo No Rest for the Wicked

Minnim has better things to do.

(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role play forums. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)

Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

No Rest for the Wicked

Postby Minnim on July 4th, 2016, 3:37 am

Image
17th of Summer, 516 AV

To the grader,Minnim has a fundamental misunderstanding of Animation theory. He believes that creating the animation removes a part of his soul. I understand this is not truly the case, and would appreciate if incorrect lores were either forgone or marked in some way (e.g. with a question mark). Thanks.

The old, ratty journal lay spread flat on the table, open to the very first page. On it were a series of notes, taken long, long ago. The ink was fading, the parchment crumbling, and the leather cover soft with the wear of decades. But still, the information inside held true, and it was this information that Minnim treasured, for it told him what he needed to create his own animation.

Of course, he knew that it didn't tell him everything. He had taken the notes more hastily than he normally would have as a last second thought before setting off for Zeltiva. With the information incomplete, he knew there would be mistakes, probably even disasters, before he found the correct way to do things. But it would be worth it, to one day have an immortal friend, someone who could live alongside him as a brother, or a son.

Minnim had pored over thse same words on different pages, back in Sahova, where he borrowed the books from The Great Library. He had thought of keeping them, but the chance of someone chasing him down was too high, and so he had spent days copying the important information into his journal. He had studied these notes with high hopes for years, and for bells that morning as a refresher course. But now, as Leth rose to his place in the sky, Minnim was preparing to put the information into action for the first time since settling in Zetiva almost ten years ago. Minnim peered out the open window, scanning the streets outside for any evidence of passerby. Though Animation as a world magic was not necessarily banned in the city, it was neither a highly praised skill, and was always something to be cautious about.

Finally certain that the time and setting was right, Minnim moved to the center of his cottage, carrying with him his book, ink, quill, and a single piece of pure white chalk. On the ground before him lay a single piece of fabric, no longer than a yard, its floral pattern long faded and its colors dulled by the years in storage as it waited for this very purpose. Minnim placed his tools down beside the fabric with an almost loving gentleness. These were, in fact, some of the few things that Minnim felt a passion for, should a scholarly persuit be called a love, or passion.

Flipping to the first page. Minnim looked over the words, hardly recognizing his own girlish handwriting from so long ago. He read aloud, loving the feel of the old Nader-Canoch on his tongue. "Two circles must be made initially. One will contain the object, the other, the lifeform it is to be modeled after. A line will connect these circles, allowing the soulcore, and other layers of life, to be passed from one to the other."

Minnim snorted in self-depreciation. He had stopped using Nader-Canoch since leaving Sahova, and had since become horribly rusty. He could hear the sailor's accent in his voice- something he never would have believed had he not heard it- and the words stumbled over each other clumsily, as if they were all one long, choppy word. However, it was still intelligible to Minnim's ears, and so he ignored the horrid speech for now.

Following the directions in the book, Minnim took his chalk and slowly began to draw a circle on the ground. He could not remember whether or not the circle needed to be a circle or if it would function as an oval, so he kept as close to perfect as possible, striving for an exact circle, as the notes directed. When the first was finished, he started on another, larger circle, this one taking much more time to perfect. When at last the drawing portion was complete, Minnim picked up the piece of fabric, carried it to the smaller circle, and placed it inside. Soon, he thought as he walked back to his own circle. "Soon, you will live."
Last edited by Minnim on March 10th, 2017, 4:08 am, edited 2 times in total.
User avatar
Minnim
Old Soul
 
Posts: 83
Words: 42496
Joined roleplay: September 15th, 2015, 3:27 pm
Location: Ravok
Race: Nuit
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Plotnotes

No Rest for the Wicked

Postby Minnim on July 29th, 2016, 5:07 am

Image
Minnim paused before the larger white ring, suddenly doubting himself. He knew that once he entered the circle, he could not leave until the session was complete. This meant he had to be completely ready- and he had a nagging feeling he wasn't.

He stood for nearly five chimes, trying to discern what he could be missing. Nothing came to him. With the moonlight burning away, Minnim shook the feeling from his body with a forceful shudder. We must go through with this. There is no other option.

Of course, there was always the option not to use magic, but Minnim had long ago silenced that idea.

At last, he stepped inside the circle. He twirled about for a moment on his feet, not unlike a dog softening its bedding. Once he was set, he folded himself on the floor, cross-legged facing his fabric. He stared at it for a long tick, etching the image of the worn pattern, the frayed ends, and the faded colors deep into his mind. He opened his eyes and reached down to the inside of his cloak for his knife...and found nothing.

"Petch it all!" He muttered.

He stood again, paced across the room to grab his knife, then sat once more in the circle with a quiet huff. The knife was traditionally tucked into his sleeve, where its sheath was sewn, but he had taken it out earlier in the morning to polish, and so forgotten it on the table. At least he hadn't forgotten something major, he thought.

Comforted, Minnim raised the knife to his palm and made a shallow, delicate cut. He moved very slowly, and watched carefully, squeezing just enough ichor from the wound to allow a drip to splash to the floor and onto the circle.

Almost instantly, he gasped aloud. He could feel the circles awaken, their emptiness pushing on his life force, reaching for anything to hold on to. He pushed it away momentarily, as he hastily bound his hand with a rag. Once he was certain that he would not bleed out on the floor, he relaxed. Minnim let his guard down, and immediately, his Djed flowed.

He could feel the outside suck hungrily at his soul, stealing from him portions of his life principle. He knew they were small pieces, and would not affect him in the end, but at the moment it felt like a great piece of him was being ripped away. He closed his eyes against the feeling, hoping to block out the headache forming behind his brow. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the fabric absorbing the soulcore in his mind's eye, and there it was even more vivid.

He fed the newly forming creature his life (or unlife as it may have been), as a mother might feed her child at her teat. And indeed, he felt a draw to the thing, as if it might be his own. This made it all the more difficult to acknowledge that it had had its share, and that its soulcore was now fully formed and would be self-sufficient. The child suckled a tick longer after Minnim made the choice to cut it off. It took a burst of will and a great manipulation of his own Djed, pulling back with everything he had to free himself of the thing's grasp. Once he pulled away, he opened his eyes with another gasp, as if waking from a nightmare.

Minnim jumped to his feet before the thing could latch on again- or at least, he tried to. He really stumbled backward, falling to his knees on the hard, cool floor. His brow was graced with sweat and his hands shaky. His stomach felt weak, though he knew that in reality it was not even functioning. After a few habitual breaths, Minnim gathered the strength to look up at his creation, and saw...the same fabric he had left.

There was no grand glow, no sudden vibrancy. The fabric didn't look magical, nor did it seem more alive. To the contrary, it sat as lifeless as ever within its circle, unmoved by the faint draft in the old room. Minnim sighed, not bothering to keep the scowl off his face. He had done practically nothing! And here he was, weak, and in need of rest. What a pitiful mage he was!

That was only step one...
User avatar
Minnim
Old Soul
 
Posts: 83
Words: 42496
Joined roleplay: September 15th, 2015, 3:27 pm
Location: Ravok
Race: Nuit
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Plotnotes

No Rest for the Wicked

Postby Minnim on September 1st, 2016, 3:20 am

Image
Leth's moonlight still trickled through the window, splashing onto the floor in thick puddles. Shadows hudled in the corners, promising that Syna had yet to begin her rise. Though his energy was low, he still had time, and so he felt he had to continue.

Minnim laid his hands on his legs, bending over to gather himself for a tick. The second step, directives, were those that had been made to seem hardest. From what he had been told, it could take hours, if not days to complete even a simple set of directives. He didn't want to spend that kind of time on a useless, experimental creation, but he supposed he didn't have much choice.

Minnim moved back to his circle, listing off the required directives in his head. Loyalty. Non-violence. Kill phrase. He didn't wish to give the animation self-preservation, as he wasn't sure how to give it priorities, and didn't want self-preservation to overtake the non-violence directive. No, he would just have to keep the thing safe himself.

Setting himself within the circle and opening himself up again, Minnim reached out to establish contact with his animation.

This time, the new life principle reached out slowly, curiously lapping at his Djed like waves on the shore. Minnim, too, reached out to meet it, offering his first directive.

Pictures of dogs by their owner's sides, the image of the Wave Guard protecting each other and their beloved city, and ideas of working as an apprentice formed in Minnim's mind. He passed these on to the construct, offering the idea of loyalty. Piecing the images rogether in his own head, Minnim realized that it was not a clear picture. He needed a more deeply-implanted memory, a strong feeling.

So he dug deep, falling into the idea of being a woman again; how she loved her family was a feeling she could not forget. Minnim's own loyalty to her husband was a vibrant memory, colored with nursing him to health when sick, standing up for him when down, and guiding him when lost. She had stayed by his side, and promised to do so 'till death at their wedding. With this in mind, Minnim gave the command.

"You are loyal to I, Minnim, and no other."
User avatar
Minnim
Old Soul
 
Posts: 83
Words: 42496
Joined roleplay: September 15th, 2015, 3:27 pm
Location: Ravok
Race: Nuit
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Plotnotes

No Rest for the Wicked

Postby Minnim on September 22nd, 2016, 6:47 pm

Image
Minnim moved on to his second directive without even opening his eyes. He had to make certain that non-violence was a concept well-understood by the animated patch of fabric.

Minnim knew non-violence well himself, and so this was an easy concept to convey. He gifted it memories of fighting as a man in Syliras, his sword swiping through the flesh of enemies, his heart burning with the fire of war. It was a vivid memory. It was easy to recall, and made as deep an impression on the animation as it did on his own brain. He moved on quickly.

Minnim moved to non-violence. It was characterized by his post-turning, his time in the citadel. He retired his sword and let his leather armor gather dust. Suddenly, when he had all the time in the world, life seemed a little more precious. It was almost as if he pitied those with so few chances at life, those who counted precious ticks, chimes, bells...He pushed away that thought forcefully. He had to stay on track. The directive. Non-violence was the key, not pity.

"You will not willingly bring harm to any being."

Period. Full stop. Although it could not hear his words, speaking them helped the thought become clear in his mind. And clarity was vital to its success.

The last directive would be the most simple, but also the most important. Without a killphrase, his plans for the object would be useless. However, the thing had no way of hearing. The killphrase would have to be physical. So, shifting his body ever so slightly, Minnim moved one hand to tap gently on his arm.

He gave the idea of touch to his animation. He explained what it felt like, as well as demonstrating on his own skin so that he could feel it as well. He double-tapped gently, hoping the creation would understand.

"When you feel the double-tap, you will cease all action."

The command felt vague, but he could think of no way to specify. Thoughtfully, he tapped his arm a few times more. No, this would have to do. Besides, what damage could a fabric really do?
User avatar
Minnim
Old Soul
 
Posts: 83
Words: 42496
Joined roleplay: September 15th, 2015, 3:27 pm
Location: Ravok
Race: Nuit
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Plotnotes


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests