Solo [The Empyreal Demesne] Well, well, well

Djinn digs a well and helps set up a pen for the livestock of the Merkai

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While Sylira is by far the most civilized region of Mizahar, countless surprises and encounters await the traveler in its rural wilderness. Called the Wildlands, Syliran's wilderness is comprised of gradual rolling hills in the south that become deep wilderness in the north. Ruins abound throughout the wildlands, and only the well-marked roads are safe.

[The Empyreal Demesne] Well, well, well

Postby Wa'Djinnabi on August 27th, 2019, 11:29 am

13th of Summer

Early morning greeted the Bay of Matthews with it's customary piercing lights and fierce, cheerful glow. Syna was on a warpath it seemed, intent on punishing the drunkards and the night owls apiece. Djinn of course was neither, but he still ended up squinting in the dawn light. The old farmer from Syliras was already up and about, chatting with some friends of his among Kelski's retinue. The kelvic in question was no where to be scene, either off attending to her own business or transformed into her hawk form and scouting the area. Whatever she was up to, it probably wouldn't be affecting him, at least not today. On the other hand, what the old farmer had in mind would very likely affect her.

Yesterday the pair and one of the gardeners had set up several acres of cropland, which Djinn managed to "misunderstand" and almost ruin the days efforts. Luckily he simply added unnecessary irrigation ditches which could be useful at some point but wouldn't cause problems in the short term at least. Today however would be just him and Dawson, seems Mercy would be spending the day with her baby.

Wa'djinnabi stretched out his limbs, yesterday's soreness lingering as he waited for some of the food the cooks were fussing over. Ember and Keesha? He squinted harder trying to place the ladies. Whatever they were making smelled good, even if it was simple fare. Which of course ended up being a kind of porridge. Perhaps hunger made for the best seasoning but the eypharian was starving and swallowed down much of the food without really tasting it. At least it smelled good.

Dawson beckoned him over with a shovel in each hand and started their work day with a grin, "Well my boy, you get the fine distinction of digging a well to earn your keep." He gestured to a pile of flagstones, "Pretty simple, eh? dig down until you hit water, line the bottom of the well with the stones to help keep the mud down, then we build up the walls of the well on top so the youngin's don't fall in and eventually we install a winch for the bucket." He handed the shovel, and pointed to a pair of crossed lines in the dirt. "Pretty sure you'll get lucky if you dig there. Water table shouldn't be too far down this close to the sea, though we are just as likely to get some saltwater down there if we are too close." He smirked at the younger man, "Pray to Ovek that our gamble is a good one, otherwise you'll have to dig up another well 'till we find what we're looking for."

"And what will you be doing?" The grumpy, tired, and sore eypharian said archly
"I'll be working just as hard, don't you worry boy." The farmer replied smoothly and patted the younger man's shoulder. He strolled away leaving the desert dweller with a shovel in hand and a mountain of work to get to. He would be lucky to get if he had anything done by noon. He sighed and pushed the blade of the shovel into the dirt and got to work.


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[The Empyreal Demesne] Well, well, well

Postby Wa'Djinnabi on August 30th, 2019, 11:21 am

Oh how the mighty have fallen. To say that Wa'djinnabi was mighty or from a mighty family would be a great disservice to might. Djinn was from a family of orbiters, those faithful moths drawn to the flame of true glory and sought to make their own standing better through whatever means they could grasp at. They pinned their hopes on his brother and his sister. Where Djinn, the third son of a minor family, was intended to be a sort of craftsman. The young eypharian had long come to terms that since he was little use to his family he would be largely ignored. And through the long turn of events from that realization, here he was, shoveling dirt and digging a pit like a common laborer.

Not that the third son of a nobody really minded. He had long learned the worth of a day's useful and vigorous work. He enjoyed working with each of his many hands. He might have a high regard for himself, but he didn't begrudge the respect that the common laborer, be them farmer or ditch digger, that he Djinn gave them. There was something almost meditative to the work at least. Once he was in his routine he let his mind wander as his body moved through the process, his additional arms giving him strength and stamina that served him well in his work.

His mind kept turning back to Kelski, the leader of their little merry band of misfits. Something she said, something she didn't say was churning through his head. At the time, he merely let the words wash over him and did not pay much mind to them. But they stuck with him, transmuting surely as any alchemy that he ever participated in. And like the circle he would use to make such a transmutation the thoughts were circular. It was about kelvics and well, slaves in general. Steeped in a culture where owning slaves and kelvics was common and seen as natural, the idea that such people, and truly they were people, could rise above their station was alien but... familiar as his own parents.

By this point he had a pile of dirt up to his waist and a hole that reflected his newly created mound. Syna was starting to burn in earnest as he worked and sweat started to dribble down his neck and back. It seemed that hard work and a sunny day was enough to get a desert dweller to sweat. Djinn looked around as he took a small break, he was starting to breath hard and took a swig from his waterskin. It tasted of warm treated leather. With a grimace on his face he caught a sight of dawson at work. The man was measuring something with string and staking out something. Perhaps another pen? The first one was ready to be built with posts driven in. Likely Djinn was meant to help with that when he finished with the well.With a sigh and a renewal of effort he shoved the blade of the shovel back into the dirt.

At this point, Djinn had to get clever. Any deeper and he would get stuck. So he retrieved a rope from the "foreman", who was in fact a lady, and tied it around the base of a nearby stout tree. Prepared to climb out, he continued throwing piles of dirt out of his soon to be excavated well. At this depth he would have to be careful. The idea was to keep the walls of the structure more or less even all the way down. Digging into the walls of the well would make the dirt above liable to form a sinkhole, or so Djinn reasoned to himself. The rope kept getting in the way, but each strike of his shovel got him a little bit closer to his goal so the annoyance was put up with.



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[The Empyreal Demesne] Well, well, well

Postby Wa'Djinnabi on August 30th, 2019, 11:22 am

The sun was nearly above his head when he took his next break. The air was cool in the ground and the earthen walls seemed to be almost sweating with water. He was close and he could feel it as he leaned against the sides of the well. He had long been unable to use his considerable height to see over the lip of the pit. Getting out would require using the rope to "repel" up the walls. Another sip of the waterskin helped slake his thirst though he thought he could feel his pores almost directly stealing from his stomach to fuel his sweat. The fluid seemed to only accentuate the lean muscles of his body in a burnished bronze. Though truthfully he would rather not be sweaty and smelling like dirt. He pulled away from the cool surface behind him and the dirt came away pressed into his back and his light workshirt through the simple application of sweat.

The texture of the bottom of the well was getting... moist. It really only took a few more inches for that loamy moistness to turn to mud and a few more until he struck true water. This was the part that made him wonder. How much deeper did he need to go? Enough to get a bucket or pot submerged, naturally. But did that mean, a foot? a yard? His pondering was taken out of his hands as he realized that the well was filling with water on its own. Perhaps he had struck a spring. A thought struck him as he remembered something dawson said. He cupped his hands into the muddy water and tasted it with the tip of his tongue. Muddy, filled with minerals and soil but not salty. Good.

His trousers were getting wet and coming up to his knees. Time to leave. Well, get the flagstones to keep down the mud. This next part was perhaps the least pleasant part of his job. Without help he had to line the bottom of the well with stones. Hopefully the water level wont rise too much before he was done. With a grunt he braced his feet against the walls and gripped the rope tightly. Using it to leverage himself up the slowly began the process of walking up wall. It didn't take long until he climbed up and out. Only now could he really admire the mound he created, it was tall as him and many times wider then him at the base. Someone must have helped him because the dirt was spread out a bit to keep it from falling back in on him. Whoever it was must have gone on to other things because he was more or less alone.

The sun was already making her way down the otherside of the arch of the sky. He looked about for his stone and started tossing them into the well. Each stone made a mighty "Plunk" and a hefty splash. Judging that he likely had enough, though he was prepared for more trips, he used his climbing rope to work his way back into the well. At least arranging the stones was easy, though each one caused the water level to rise so that it was to his waist. It didn't seem to be going any higher at least. Some mysterious equilibrium was found in the forces below. He let the water settle before getting the final stones in place and smiled to himself. He could see all the way to the bottom and the water was clean. Well, it would be when he was out of it. And even then, it was not as if he was fouling the water.

The Empyreal Demesne was in a good place, it had the sea for transport, a stream for washing clothes and now a well for water. The next step would be building a wall around the pit he just dug. Though it appeared Dawson already had a friend to help with that.


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[The Empyreal Demesne] Well, well, well

Postby Wa'Djinnabi on September 1st, 2019, 6:42 am

Dawson smiled as he spoke to the newcomer, though Djinn was too far away to really hear what he said when the cloaked figure turned to him. The man regarded him but said nothing before turning to the pit that Djinn had dug and the pile of dirt. With a wave of his hand and.... something, the soil began to shift and move. Under the man's cloak extra arms shifted as this mysterious personThis is Gilthas "Gils" Avancalas directed the earth to form a parapet wall around the well, the soil easily compacting into what appeared to be tasteful stones with thick mortar. Though this was not the case, it was all one piece, whatever this magus was up to had managed to convey the sense of a traditionally built well while making it strong by dint of being a single piece. The magically worked soil then began to cover the interior of the well and merged seamlessly with the flagstones, those flagstones being unmortared and allowed the water to spring up from the watertable below with minimal mud. Even what mud that was inevitably in the water was drawn away and into the now stone/brick lined. The mage even left convenient handholds to climb up should someone fall in. A gale force wind blew back the trees as the remaining soil was converted from earth to wind, scattering the organic material that would not convert into the far corners of the land.

The eypharian was, well, stunned. So stunned that the mage smirked at him and waved before sauntering off to do whatever mages of his strength did and Djinn could only watch him go. Dawson walked up beside him with a grin, "Impressive, eh? The well's done, time to help me with the pastures and pens." The older human clapped him on the shoulder and wandered off. Djinn looked over the side of the well, astonished. Within a few minutes, that stranger... well, he managed to finish off his well. With that level of control, he had no doubt that the wizard could have done his job in a fraction of the time. So... why didn't he?

Wa'Djinn ran after Dawson and started helping him carry the beams of wood that would be used to corral the horses and other livestock. "So, why didn't that fellow just... magic up the well in the first place? Why did I have to dig all day?" Djinn could already tell he would be feeling the soreness tomorrow. Dawson replied, "From what I understand, the magic he used has limits. I mean, sure he could probably do it, but what if the well was saltwater? He woulda risked serious harm for naught. And how deep would he have had to go to reach the water table? So many unknowns when it would have only strengthened a young lad like yourself to dig the well." Djinn made a face and rolled his eyes. "Cheer up lad, you did good. Who knows, maybe one day you will be like him and can magic a well up all by yourself." Dawson said with a cheeky grin.

Luckily building the pen was fairly simple and not nearly as backbreaking as digging that well. Djinn was largely helping though, he held up the beams while Dawson slotted them into grooves of the posts and hammered wooden dowels into place to keep it all secured. There was simply not much too it. The gate was already made by hands more clever then theirs and the hinges were nailed into the post. With the two of them working they managed to get their task done just as the sun was beginning to set and supper was being served. The eypharian had all his hands full of stew and bread that evening and managed to down the hearty meal at an admirable rate.

That night, Wa'djinnabi Re Ahnatep slept like the dead but for the first time in a long time, he could say that he done an honest day's work.

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