| Present day Ortal's home, The Spires The writer's hands prepare another parchment. The light for the writing is supplied by a single candle as the darkness still clouds the sky outside. The writer's hands straighten out the parchment before the right hand dips the quill in the first ink of the day. It had seen so much ink already and it would continue to see much ink for quite a long time after. Just as the writer begins to write, the right hand is brought up, the back used to stiffle a fit of coughing. The coughs sound sickly and not healthy at all but the writer forgets them right after they end. He focuses on the story in front of him. The right hand moves to the parchment and touches it for the first words. |
| Spring 20th - 75th, Year 513 The house had only been finished for a single day but the Undrykas was already busy. With the recipe for the paste fresh in his mind he tried to scribble it down quickly but his age and the pain in his bones only allowed for slow writing. Grumbling joined the writing as the recipe was put down on paper. For once, the Undrykas was not using his study to do his writing but instead was in the dining room, where nobody could look inside. A few hours later, the Undrykas returned home for the first time and closed his door behind him. It felt quite good to the old man. The bags he was carrying contained all the necessary ingredients for his plans. The stick used for walking was placed aside, near the door, and the Undrykas carried himself through the house. He already knew where he was going and how things would look. The remains of the wooden planks were placed in the middle of the meeting room, safely away to the side, left there by the Jamoura workers after being instructed by the Undrykas to do so. In his bedroom, next to his bed, the Undrykas stood in silence. His old and bony hands were placed together, the palms touching each other. His eyes were closed as he focused on his djed. It greedily accepted his will as it moved through his body. The surge felt good after not having used it in so long. The Undrykas slowly moved his hands, pushing his palms away from each other while his fingertips remained connected, as if a ball of air was blowing up between his palms. "Flux 25" The Undrykas spoke softly, the word flux pronounced in Pavi and the number spoken in common, combining his 'gesture' with an 'incantation'. Like in so many other things, the Undrykas was the exception to the rule, even outside the Drykas culture. Only a rare few mages of expert level or higher used incantations or gestures to perform magic, let alone both at the same time. But the Undrykas used both. On his command, the djed inside of him pooled out into his body, strengthening it. With his body being temporarily back to its strength, speed and stamina from when he had been 25 years old, the Undrykas set to work. With surpising speed, the Undrykas moved through his house, back and forth between the meeting hall and his bedroom, moving the wooden planks and stacking them up in his bedroom. When he was finished, he started to work on the wall, removing it. With the paste not being entirely set in, the Undrykas had an easier task of removing the wood. Still covered by the roof, but with no outer wall, the Undrykas set to work. The paste was quickly made as his younger strength and speed allowed to work at peak efficiency. The Undrykas worked and worked, pasting one plank of wood after another against each other, creating a new outer wall for his house. It came very close to the edge of the petal, which was to the Undrykas' liking. The wooden outer wall was quickly set up and the Undrykas started to create a second layer to it, doubling it's thickness. The paste had to be remade several times and the Undrykas quickly worked through it. His memory served him well and he ground the paste out nicely. He created a second room, behind his bedroom and next to his dining room. It was connected via a corrider from his bedroom, down the stairs so it leveled with the rest of the house, to the new room. It was very dark inside and a single candle provided all the light needed. In the room, he built himself a rough desk, quite big so it could support all of the things he would keep here. It was pasted in a corner of the room and supported by smaller pieces of wood. Satisfied with his work, the Undrykas moved out again and closed it off, creating a fake wall to cover the entire room off from the outside. It would require decent observation skills to find it. Later on he would work some magic on it to protect it even more. Over the remaining days of the season, the Undrykas spent his time adding to his house, secretly. He could never work for long period of time while using his flux and prefered to work during the night, when there was little to no chance of people seeing him in this remote location. Flux overuse would result in more pain and possible loss. The Undrykas rubbed the dead fingers of his hands. On both hands he had a leather wrapping around his pink and ring fingers, keeping them together and preventing them from dangling about. With only a few hours of minimal flux use at a time, the Undrykas built his home more and more, adding to it every time. Nearing the end of the Spring season, the Undrykas had fixed the remaining parts of his secret rooms and hallways. His house now had four secret doors, one in his bedroom, one in the dining room and one in the kitchen, almost right next to it. The last one connected to the library. Another big room had been added, on the other side of the house, near the kitchen. A table was made here as well, which would serve as a study for more secret projects. The other room, which he had made soon after his house had been finished, would serve him as a laboratory, used for experimenting and working his skills. All of the doors were hidden equally skilled, seemingly blending in entirely with the wall. Over time, they would become even more difficult to see. The house was just as unique as any of the other houses in the Spires, exactly because of the fact that it was so squarely shaped and probably considered boring by the Spirians. To the Undrykas however, it was the perfect depiction of his soul. Straight, settled, easy to look at and understand, boring but with so many layers and hidden parts to it that nobody would ever know it for real. Satisfied with his new home and house, the Undrykas sat himself at the desk in the library, peering outside the window for a while, thinking as he casually touched the dead fingers on his right hand. |
| Present day Ortal's home, The Spires The writer's hands stop writing and the right hand puts the quill down. The writer looks out the window, thinking, and rubs over the fingers of his right hand. Both his left and right hands have two fingers wrapped in leather, the pink and ring finger, to keep them from moving around uncontrolled. Without a spirit to move them, the fingers are virtually dead. |
