15 Winter 518 Crylon let out a sigh, looking out the small window open on the side of the carriage. He was an Isur, and by his nature was a thing of action. Making. Improving. Working. Such was his goals. Sitting and riding along in a caravan was not his idea of fun. However as the sun was getting lower in the sky he knew they would soon be coming to a stop. Which meant he would be able to get out and explore, gather up some things, or some other physical activity not possible in the confines of the carriage. When they rolled to a stop and the caravan hands began their work of setting up camp, Crylon took the opportunity to get out and move about. Stretching his legs he cast about, leaving his things in the carriage where he slept and made his home on the move. He was excited to see that they were passing through a small rocky outcropping, a small bit of stone breaking the ground and coming to a stop a few stories above him. It was the most stone he had seen in awhile, a nice break from the constant swamp, trees, and other such vegetation so common on their route. For a moment Crylon thought back to Kalea, imagine it as the tiniest of said mountains hillocks, a small protuberance from the mass of stone for miles, but the illusion was soon broken as he turned his head even a few small degrees and saw the dirt and water and plants all about. Such could next exist in the mountains of Kalea, deep in the lands of the Isur. However he did not want to go away empty handed, and an idea of something he could do the next day occurred to him as he walked closer. Running his right hand over the surface of the stone, Crylon closed his eyes and felt its smooth grace on his flesh. He focused on that sense, trying to block out all else, taking a breath and for a moment pushing away the sounds and cacophony of the humans in the caravan. Of the horses. The sounds of setting up camp and preparing their next meal... For a few second he was calmed, meditating on such a visage of home, of running his hands across the stone of the mountains, of the walls of his families home and the Pitrius Citadel. Of the trading outposts where he had learned common. But then there was the sound of a commotion nearby, and his eyes flicked open and were drawn back to the moment. Making a decision, Crylon rubbed his left hand over the stone, feeling in the way that his black metallic or stone limb did. He could feel the stone in the same sense that one could feel a hand pressed against ones flesh through cloth, feeling the reaction and the pressure but not the actual source itself. Feeling with his Isurian arm, gifted by Izurdin, was similar to this. With a jolt, he extended his fingers outward so that his hand lay flat, and then stabbed forward as if he was pressing his hands into a loaf of soft bread. Pulling his fingers back, he could look and see the indentation his finger had made in the stone. A finger hold. With that he pressed again, this time cupping his hand and pulling sideways, carving and pulling out a chunk of the stone slowly but surely as his fingers slipped inwards. It was like carving off layers of clay that lay still wet and springy to be shaped, but was much more difficult in that he could only use one hand. After a few more chimes of this he had managed to get a small chunk of stone about half an inch thick but several feet wide mostly dislodged. Pinching off the end, Crylon came at it from the other side, running his fingers along underneath on the top and bottom until finally the piece of stone fell free all at once, more sliding out of the slot it had once filled than breaking off or falling once nothing connected it to the whole of the stone. Using his left he pushed and molded the stone, bending it about and over itself to make it smaller. Shortening but thickening it. After a bit more of this he had a piece of the stone several inches thick and about a foot wide. A nice hefty bit of stone, but much more manageable. He was still working out what to do with the stone, but that was a issue for tomorrow within the tedium of the waiting caravan. When he returned to his carriage Crylon let the bit of stone drop with a small thunk on the wood, a smile on his face as he pondered the possibilities of the next day. WC: 814 |