caballero ∞ until one day it did (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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multiversallogs2011-11-14 10:40 pm
caballero) wrote in multiversallogs2011-11-14 10:40 pm
Entry tags:
when will it start to almost break you
Who: Seoraj & Tom who is really Bruce.
What: Nerdings.
Where: A stelanmancy repository in Flag Hill.
When: ~Today.
Notes:Wildly making shit upWorldbuilding.
Warnings: TBA, don't really expect any though.
It's been less than a week since he's found work, and only a meager few days since his new co-workers have discovered his affinity for devices and materials beyond the ken of Baedal's technology. Familiarity with these things are common - especially in the newly chosen - but proficiency to his degree is rare, and even rarer to find in someone looking for work in the engineering field. So it's no surprise that one of the first assignments he's given is to go into a highly secure facility and dig through looking for ultra-rare materials. He actually knows what they are, who cares who he is or where he's from.
Not all stelanmancy facilities are the same, he's been told; in a way they're like gardens. The techniques and magics that work for some experts don't work with others, and the lay of the land always plays into it, as well. The Flag Hill center is an old round wooden building that looks low and unassuming from outside. Within there lies sights like Bruce has never seen: pools of captive fog, some encased in glass, some left to broil as thaumaturgists pick through like great crane-birds wearing plague masks to prevent them from the dream sickness. The man who shows him through the dark wooded halls tells him about the lake in the back, the size of an Olympic pool, through which buildings are pulled and then hovered away with by mages.
Walking across planks of petrified wood in between mirrored islands, Bruce crouches down to watch as a witch with pointed teeth and a friendly smiles coaxes a parasol and necklace made of gold coins into existence.
It's incredible.
An hour later, he's sitting on the floor of an overhang outside what passes for an office in here (open, lattice-worked bungalows built into the walls, looking out over the glass-covered pools), sorting through bits and pieces of metal spilled out onto the wooden surface, speaking in low tones about what's what. The stelanmancer sitting with him listens raptly, being from a time long before factory-processed metals.
Not all stelanmancy facilities are the same, he's been told; in a way they're like gardens. The techniques and magics that work for some experts don't work with others, and the lay of the land always plays into it, as well. The Flag Hill center is an old round wooden building that looks low and unassuming from outside. Within there lies sights like Bruce has never seen: pools of captive fog, some encased in glass, some left to broil as thaumaturgists pick through like great crane-birds wearing plague masks to prevent them from the dream sickness. The man who shows him through the dark wooded halls tells him about the lake in the back, the size of an Olympic pool, through which buildings are pulled and then hovered away with by mages.
Walking across planks of petrified wood in between mirrored islands, Bruce crouches down to watch as a witch with pointed teeth and a friendly smiles coaxes a parasol and necklace made of gold coins into existence.
It's incredible.
An hour later, he's sitting on the floor of an overhang outside what passes for an office in here (open, lattice-worked bungalows built into the walls, looking out over the glass-covered pools), sorting through bits and pieces of metal spilled out onto the wooden surface, speaking in low tones about what's what. The stelanmancer sitting with him listens raptly, being from a time long before factory-processed metals.