“Finally, I have them all! A claw of the magma manticore, a scale from the shell of the mountain tortoise, a fang from the whirlpool manatee, and hoof clippings from an elder cycloptic and slepnic horse which was the allfather of its herd,” I say under my breath as I pack each rare and powerful artifact into my satchel. Each artifact buzzed with elemental energy, ripe to harvest and finish my project that I will present at the festival of unity. Though every year this festival occurs, this one will be truly special. The four forges of the Mana Smiths have been waiting two generations to seal themselves as one in blood, and this year they will see that dream become a reality.
The pressure I feel is immense as today is pivotal for my future. To help calm down, I splash water upon my face from a basin in my room and look into my glowing red eyes reflected to me in the water. My flesh is the same color as the darkness found in the deepest caves my people mine materials from to create beautiful works of art, and not a single hair grows from my scalp. My skin is the deepest black, that even those of darker complexion do not compare to my coal black flesh. Light seems to be lost as it hits my body, and my entering even the most brightly illuminated rooms can darken them. The chiefess’s bastard son is what my people call me, even though I am my parents’ child. My parents told me that the mixing of the people of the different forges can have strange effects on their offspring, but I know that isn’t the truth. Why would my bride to be appear normal, whatever that means, if she too is a mixture of people from the different forge lands?
My presentation must be perfect and spectacular to convince not only my people, but the people of every forge land of my worth and parentage. I have slaved learning every craft from the different forges, and my project will need to combine elements from my entire education. I must make an artistic marvel for the Tera Artisans, create a work of true beauty to enchant the Oceanic Jewelers, imbue a creation with incredible power to overwhelm the Magma Armorers, and touch the very souls of the Zephyr Musicians. Maybe then and only then will my people and all those that I will soon lead see me as one of them and not some public shame or poorly held secret. Soon, the blood of the Tera Artisans and Oceanic Jewelers, will wed the blood of the Magma Armorers and Zephyr Musicians and I will be chief with a wonderful chiefess by my side and our future child will be the child of dreams, a child that bears the blood of all forges.
Time is slowly running out for me, as the festival is nigh and my project is yet to be finished, but now that I have the required materials the day of destiny has arrived. I walk to the door of my room and take a deep breath before opening the door and stroll to the main floor of my home. Various rings, bracelets, and woven ornaments are strewn about what has become yet another space dedicated to my mother’s workshop. Upon a loom a red and gold scarf is taking shape, and it bursts into flames.
“Mother your phoenix flame scarf is burning again,” I yell, and an olive skinned and light-haired woman charges into the room. She doesn’t say a word and gets back to work weaving what appear to be threads of flame into intricate patterns, so that the very fire appears to reflect the designs and colors of what once was the scarf. The flames grow dimmer and once again the scarf in its woven glory hangs upon the loom.
“Thank you, Gram. If I don’t weave the flames then the scarf may look pretty, but the flame patterns will look janky,” says my mother appreciating her work still sitting at her loom, which was currently situated in the main hall of our home, “before you go off to old man Black’s home, your father wishes to speak with you.”
“Alright mum, I’ll go to him right now,” I say, and I walk down the hall and turn into my father’s workshop. Glass sculptures of various creatures that exist and some that only thrive in my father’s mind prance and move upon their pedestals reflecting light in magnificent ways upon the walls. When light travels through the colored glass, each statue makes a beautiful tapestry of light looking like an abstract pain of stained glass all over my father’s workshop.
“You almost ready for the festival?” asks my father whose pale skin and almost paler eyes emerges from behind a large sculpture of a glass dragon that snakes its way around an intricately detailed mountain that has small glass trees with individually crafted green glass leaves.
I smile at my father trying to fake the confidence that I’ll need to pull off what I need to attempt what I wish to accomplish today and say, “I should be putting the finishing touches on my project today.”
“Good to hear,” says my father slapping my back and for a small man his arm packs quite a lot of strength in it, “Also, please don’t do anything rash. I know that you can be insecure but know that watching you grow and learn has been proof enough for me that you are worthy to become chief. Afterall, not even your mother can step in my shop and put details upon my work. Which reminds me I should probably thank you for helping me finish many of the pieces that I am going to present and sell at the festival. You really didn’t have to stay up late to do that for me, when you have your own project to worry about.”
“I needed the practice,” I say trying to hide the smile that forces itself upon my lips hearing my father’s praise, “I was also waiting on a few materials, so I was free to help out. Today, is make or break though.”
“I believe in you boy. You’ve worked so hard, and I look forward to seeing what you have made,” says my father ruffling my hair, and slapping my back again to tell me he was done and wanted to return to his work.
I leave my father’s workshop and exit my family home into the streets of a village abuzz with activity. Decorations were being put up, and traveling merchants were already peddling all manner of amazing goods. One merchant I passed by on my way to old man Black’s home was peddling self-playing harps and flutes that filled the air with joyous music. Another merchant was showing off a bracelet of a snake that would crawl up and down your arm. Several people were putting up banners that would change according to where you looked at them. One banner would give directions to where the toys and sweets stalls were if you looked at it from below, or if you weren’t the height of a child would tell you what stalls were going to be directly ahead. Mystic glass bubbles floated in the street holding little glowing sculptures of fairies that danced inside them.
The village is almost preemptively celebrating, and though the sights and sounds should excite me, they instead fill me with anxiety and dread. One mishap and my project will be destroyed. I have spent literal years of my life scrounging and saving, trading, and bartering just to find the materials that I believe will be necessary to pull off what I desire. I stop myself and take a few more deep breaths, as an artisan’s hands must be steady and precise.
“It’s the monster man again,” says a child with rather dark skin, though in comparison to me she might as well have skin the color of the fur of a creature from the tundra of perpetual winter. I watch as her mother quickly ushers her away glaring at me. What have I ever done to that woman besides exist, yet I receive such foul glances? I look into a puddle and my eyes like embers in a dying fire blaze within my skull, and I acknowledge that I do kind of look like a monster, and I cannot deny what’s inside me essentially makes me a festering demon from a shameful era. I’m a complete package of horrors to them, and what similarity some may share with me is lost in what the eyes and mind cannot forgive. However, soon those looks of disgust will be replaced with admiration.
I change my path from the main road to wander less populated sub roads and alleys to avoid the judgmental eyes of those that have watched me grow, and ignored and scorned the work of my hands. If I am to gain their respect, I have to do what hasn’t been done before, and I intend to show them a marvel. Arriving at my destination, I knock on the door of one of my precious mentors. The door flies open and nearly catches me but knowing Black I step back just in time to avoid being hit.
“Come my boy, I learned of your recent purchase of the manticore claw and have been preparing for your visit,” says a man that’s flesh, hair, and beard are like fresh snow. He and I make an odd pair, one so dark in complexion, and the other being so bright that even his hair and beard seem to radiate a halo of light. Yet, as childhood mishaps often follow into adulthood an accident involving coal dust has left Black with what could be considered a not so suitable nickname for him, and a nickname that should be probably mine.
I entered his one room home that served as a bedroom, kitchen, and workshop. All manner of toys line the shelves of Black’s home, but none of them are as lively as the creations in the market. Black, though being a skilled craftsman, is one of the manaless. He is incapable of interacting with the mana of the world and its various mana beasts, but he has found his own way to make magic.
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I grab a toy that looks like a small metal hound, twist a key in its back, and place it on one of the various work counters. The little hound jitters to life and begins to do little flips on the counter. When I was a boy, I was amazed at these toys, even though very few people had even a smidgeon of interest in these fantastic little doodads. Then again, why play with these toys when you could play with a toy dragon that could spit cool flames and do so much more than flip? However, these were made without the use of mana, and that is magical to me.
“I see you still have your favorite,” says Black walking up behind me to watch his little toy hound fulfill the limits of its creation, “the Cogs Men gave me so much. A trade, a student, and a friend.”
“I wish to meet them someday,” I say watching the dog make one last strained leap, and it crashes upon its head and limply kicks until the spring within it loses the tension necessary for it to move.
“Maybe one day,” says Black, as he excitedly walks to a counter that lines the back wall where my project sits covered with a tarp, “Though, we have more pressing matters to attend to.”
Black unveils my project. A metal man filled with gears for guts and pulleys for muscles sits before us. In the metal man’s chest is a bottle made of pure crystalline orichalcum, connected to four crystals that jut out from metal man’s chest. At the lifeless metal man’s side is a book, which I pick up and begin to review its contents. I double and triple check my measurements and grasp my satchel tightly as I make sure that the mana contents will be equal amongst each artifact within my bag.
“If I’m right, a soul is a harmony of all elemental energies producing a new element of sorts. Hopefully, with some of the most powerful sources of elemental mana that I could find, they will have the energy to produce a soul,” I mutter looking up from my book at the metal contraption before us, “Now I just have to pray that my measurements were right and that the elemental energies will be balanced from each component I’ve gathered.”
“The orichalcum container was masterfully constructed, and I made sure to check it for impurities. I’ve already checked the pulleys and gears. The thing is well oiled and if the core is powered right, it should be more than capable to use the power generated by your experiment,” says Black staring at the materials I had gathered as I remove them from my satchel and onto the workstation beside the metal man.
With another deep breath I take three fingers and make a grasping motion over the manticore claw. The claw crumples into ashes as it appears to burn from the inside out and an orb of red-light blazes above my fingers. I quickly move the orb to one of the crystals of the metal man and the orb enters the crystal and hovers inside of it. So far, so good. I grab the mana from the manatee fang, and it oozes into liquid upon the counter, while bubble like orbs of blue light float and coalesce into each other much like droplets of water combine. I again quickly deposit this orb and wait for something terrible to happen, but the orb floats gently within the crystal opposite the crystal holding the blazing fire orb in the metal man’s chest.
“Two down two to go,” says Black placing a comforting hand upon my back. I’m breaking into a cold sweat as anything, and everything could go wrong. Using opposing types of elemental mana could result in disastrous consequences and using more than one mana orb could overwhelm any project. I’m using all four elements, and four mana orbs derived from the mana of four mana beasts known for their immense power. With a step the mountain tortoise can summon earthquakes, tornadoes issue forth from the hooves of the allfather slepnic horse, volcanoes long dormant spring back into life when the magna manticore makes one its home, and the sea becomes near untraversable if a whirlpool manatee is making its mating display. If I’m wrong about souls, the sheer power of the mana I’ve gathered from mana beasts that are more forces of nature than animal may create a true disaster here in Black’s shack.
I grab the mana from the mountain tortoise scale, and greenish light like vines sprout from the scale into another orb above my hand while the scale itself fades into dust. I place this one into the second to last crystal jutting out of the metal man’s chest and I feel my breathing come in faster and jagged rasps. Nothing seems to be going wrong, so I grab the final orb of mana from the Allfather horse hoof clippings, and a pale light twirls around my arm and makes the last orb of light above my fingers. The hoof clippings disappear into the tense air of the room as I place the final orb into the final crystal.
Each crystal holds an orb of varying colors of light in it, and my project is tentatively holding together. This may just work! I place my hands and elbows on each crystal and shove inward. Each crystal moves quickly and jams into the central vial. I flip latches on the metal man’s chest sealing the crystals inside him and watch as each orb of light enters the mental man’s chest into the central vial.
“Taumato, you may actually live,” I say watching as the orbs spiral in the glassy bottle in Taumato’s chest. A rainbow of colors forms a whirlpool of brilliance in the bottle. Black and I are held speechless as we stare at the miniature hurricane of light that was composed of colors, we could never even dream of reveal themselves to our eyes, until a small sun formed in the eye of the whirling colors in the center of the bottle. Taumato’s soul’s light was astounding and blinding, and I watched as the automaton’s arms rose for the first time. Jittery clanking and whirrs of gears and pulleys fill the air with sound as the automaton looked upon its hands.
“You’ve done it boy,” says Black staring at the miracle we had just created. We created life and discovered the very essence of the soul. Taumato lives and will be the marvel and discovery that will cement myself as the rightful chief and son of my parents.
We watch the metal man make jagged movements, as if getting used to its body. The automaton kicks its legs and I hear a whistling coming from its throat. I hadn’t thought to give it a voice box, as I had no idea this would work. It almost seems playful in how it watches its legs swing beneath it. There is a certain childishness to my creation, that I had no idea would be present.
All of a sudden, a cracking noise fills the air, and the automaton begins to spasm as if it’s having a seizure. The vial in Taumato’s chest continues to crack and Taumato screams, as the bottle containing his soul explodes showering Black and I with shrapnel. I jump in front of Black, and we are launched forward by a secondary and even stronger explosion. I clutch my mentor to my body to shield him from any further harm, until the spastic whirring of gears and sounds of metal wires snapping and flailing stops.
I released my mentor and both of us looked at the carnage. Oil like blood paints the walls in black splatters, and the chest cavity of Taumato is ripped open. Looking inside his chest wires and gears were fused into a molten chunk. Taumato’s arms are frozen in its last moment of agony and sits still and lifeless once more. We had birthed a soul and killed it all at once.
“Maybe the vial did have a defect, as orichalcum should be near indestructible. Well, near indestructible unless the material itself was faulty or impure to begin with,” says Black approaching the remains of Taumato, “I mean, we had it. The automaton lived and even appeared to bear some level of consciousness and self-awareness. You are a pioneer in soul research now.”
“I can’t present this!” I say staring at the hunk of junk in front of me, “who will believe that we somehow created a soul, and that this horrific mess is somehow evidence. I spent years finding the materials to come this far and the festival is literally a week away. How am I going to face the people of the four forges with this?”
Black picks up a toy from the shelves and places it in my hands, “you and I made that, why don’t you present works that you helped create?”
“That would be stolen valor, and I am already despised for more than just how I look,” I say falling to my knees clutching my face. I had everything and lost it all in less than a few moments. Now I have nothing and won’t have time to create something that will sway the people to accept me.
“Well, I didn’t want to use my nest egg, as I wanted to use it to travel back to my homeland, but I felt that this might happen,” says Black as he begins to clean the walls of the oil spattered on them, “I called in a favor with the Cogs Men, and they have gathered replacement materials and a chunk of crystalline orichalcum of the purest grade for me in case there was a mishap. I wanted to save my money, but it looks like we will need to use it now. I had a feeling the orichalcum that I bought using your money might have been a bit faulty, but then again it was the only orichalcum I could find at the time. So, I made preparations far in advance in case that the orichalcum was a dud. Always be prepared for failure, is what I always say.”
“Thank you so much Black,” I say not believing that I’ll have a chance to repair my mistake, “There no way I can ever thank you enough for this.”
“I’m too old to make the journey to gather the materials, but I can stay here and repair the automaton. We literally made almost three copies of every part of that thing, so it shouldn’t be too hard to put together a new one. You’ll need to go to the next town over and meet up with my friends,” says Black lifting me to my feet, “Though we will still need to work fast, I think we should be able to just have enough time to recreate the automaton in time for the festival. But you’ll need to go right now, as I’ve told my people to sell the things that I sent them after if I never came searching for them before the festival.”
“I’ve never left the village before, but if this is our only chance, I will go any distance to change this failure into success,” I say and I rush out the front door of Black’s home, only to realize that I have no idea where I am going and I poke my head back into Black’s home and ask, “umm… which village am I looking for?”
“You’ll be heading North to Brenwick, if you rent a slepnic filly you should arrive there by night fall,” says Black chuckling to himself as he watches me bolt in a hopeful sprint out of his home once more.