It is some time later when Grayell, Kerag & Marg - between seeing to the design - are mostly done with moving the heavier ore. A few more trips and the rest was piece meal stuff, buckets might helps.
With that in mind, Grayell went looking for a bucket or three. After searching through the rest of the small complex, he once again ended up in the bowels of the prison to be. It was still an uncomfortable place, unimaginable suffering has been endured here; but one particular element seemed to stand out in Grayell's mind.
Blood. He'd been smelling it for some time, old blood. He'd known it was down here, he'd been here before but it wasn't nearly quite so keen to his newly sharpened senses. As he entered the lower prison - or dungeon as it might be more appropriately named he looked about and could indeed see the marks, old pools, spatterings of it around this room.
He also spotted three buckets and collected them... but as he reached the door he stopped. He turned to Marg & Alec.
Do you two think you can give me a moment down here? About 5 minutes or so should be fine.
Grayell closed the door and leaned against it a moment. He sighed, relieved and at the same time, somewhat morose. Having to cold shoulder Margrett wasn't easy, he was fond of her. But he was resolute to keep things professional if he and her were to get along.
It was and it wasn't working. She hadn't seemed entirely thrilled with the new dynamic but at the same time, it gave him a pretense to keep up as something of a wall - a front to keep her from seeing through him. She seemed a little to sharp in that regard.
It was truly his fondness for her that troubled him so but Liseth's attack on this girl was sure to be trouble unless he got a lid on that very quickly. She was a free spirit and a troublemaker which he completely adored... but their had to be rules in play. She new it and likely new it was coming. He only hoped that she'd take kindly to the suggestion in her usual coy, suggestive manner.... and not take offense. Humans were such simple prey and in all sincerity, he himself preferred the hunt as nature intended it. Not on a bumbling, front eyed, sensory muted prey that had no chance of surviving such a thing. That... and they didn't taste good. Perhaps that was just the bad apples though. He wasn't about to try a good one.
His thoughts stirred his hunger and Grayell knew that if he were to continue to strive for transcendence, then he had to keep it at bay. The hunger could get the best of any werewolf and most ran off it's urges alone, hence the slavering, depraved nightmares they were commonly perceived as. It was a fair perception though. To his knowledge, none had achieved the state of Garou from human and that troubled him. It also worried him concerning Liseth. He ached at the thought of her struggling with it... if she even tried. He wasn't sure.
The thoughts triggered another sigh and he paced into the center of the room and around the well that occupied it. Old blood. He wasn't entirely sure he could manage. His power had stepped up a notch, it seemed like the wolf within was now tied down between his being turned and the taint inside him. A quick wave of the hand only triggered some bloody dust to roll, a small cloud that would only result in a large mess. He was no blood mage.
He was also not a water mage but....
Grayell took one of the buckets and began by filling from the well and throwing the water over dried blood - a lot of dried blood. It took a while but this was nothing compared to what would come next... should it work.
Grayell had let it soak. The blood had started to run as a brown-red stream of mess, clotted clumps of rehyrdrated elsewhere were something perhaps entirely horrid had occurred. He stood by the well and closed his eyes, listening to his breath. Slowing it, breathing deep and slow, out again. He felt his heart, his pulse, his own blood quickening in anticipation and he stilled it with a passive thought.
Slowly he opened his eyes, his hands lifting in synchronicity and as he did so, what there was of the blood that was close enough to whole to manipulate, slowly pulled from the floor. His hands slightly quivering, his eyes panned from left to right, taking in the scene. Drops floated lazily, pools slowly writhed as if in space... the occasional runaway quickly halted in it's direction with a snap in his mind that barked an unheard command. His jaw was set hard, eyes straining and starting to swirl with a trace of blood. His nostrils flared, dragging in breaths and something more primal, something he knew too well stirred. It seemed his only command of blood was tied to his inner beast.... but given his entire lack of training in the arts, instinct would be his mentor.
It occurred to him whether manipulation of blood was a good idea. How to maintain purity, embrace the wolf and not the beast when blood magic was indeed considered perverse and a sure fire route to corruption? He couldn't dwell on it though... he knew he did not have the answers.
His hands folded over and with a pulling motion, the blood came toward him, closer. He was surrounded in a tighter circle of the mess now, it was condensed and now it's energy felt as though it had increased tenfold. With a slow caress of one hand, the circle began to spin.
Grayell closed his eyes and whilst his mind sank back, felt for a power he didn't yet comprehend, Serenity's song came to is mind and brought him peace. Like a conductor of some twisted orchestra, Grayell's hands found a rhythm, a balance and with sudden control and comfort, they weaved the blood into a spinning cosmos of motion.
As his eyes opened, there was no reaction to the morbid grandeur of this dance, but his hands reached out, clutched at nothing and then pulled and pointed, blood whipping in snake like tendrils and into his bucket. It took but a few motions, the grace in his movements alien to dance but instead forged through many years training in the martial arts of the east and as he completed something organic, impulsive.. the last of the blood trickled into the third bucket.
He rolled his neck. Cracked his knuckles. Breathed heavy... controlled. That was entirely tiring but if anything, had made him more hungry. The blood was unappetizing - a good thing too - so he picked up the buckets and made his way out of the dungeon to dispose of them elsewhere.
A cursory nod to Marg as he passed, he said nothing.
Alec [M:118:6:][D3v:http://rpgmenagerie.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=cs&thread=412&page=1#1242]"I see," said the blind man to the deaf lady.[0:Wandering the stacks.][1:Present and accounted for.]
Heading into the soon-to-be spacious prison, Alec sniffs, then looks around. "There was blood here, before. Huh," he grunts, shrugging. "Time to get to work," he says, cracking his knuckles. Untying the cinch on his cloak, he rolls the sleeves of his shirt up.
Walking to the first cage, he inspects the joints and places it meets the wall. Making quick slicing motions with his hand, Alec cuts the cage into bars. Laying the bars near the pile of ore, he continues this for every cage in the room, ending with a pile of refined metal to match the ore. "Fantastic," he says, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. "Much, MUCH easier to work with."
Sighing, he takes a pair of bars, and with a slamming motion, forces the two together. Running his hands over it, he flattens it, forming it into a slat about a foot thick. Taking four paces from the side wall, he sets the slat up, and stamping a foot, forces it into the ground. Placing splayed hands against the base, he runs them up the slat, and forces it deep into the ceiling.
Taking two steps back, Alec puts his hands up, and balls them into fists. He takes a quick step forward, turns his body, and slams his hand into the slat. Breathing evenly for a moment, he pulls the striking hand into his chest and curses viciously. After a minute, he shakes his hand, curses some more, then looks at the damage he's done. Not even a dent. "Fantastic," he hisses, then curses some more.
Repeating this process twice, leaving a hand's breadth between the slats, making the cell eight feet deep by four feet wide. Repeating this until he runs out of refined metal - filling in most of the left side of the room - which makes 9 cells.
He looks to the ore pile, and hangs his head. "This is the hard part," he seethes, tying a cloth around his forehead. Smashing the rocks, he pulls the metal from the rubble, swirling his hand over the mess until it collects in his hand. He wipes away the bits of rock on the floor, and smashes another stone, repeating the process. Smashing all of the ore rocks, collecting the metal, and adding it to the growing pile.
Nearly half an hour later, he begins forming slats out of the metal pulled from the rock, that rubble now sitting near the door. Finishing the final cell on the left hand, he turns to the right, and sighs once more. "Nearly done," he huffs.
Taking four steps from the back wall, he begins putting up slats, running from one wall to the other. Taking a seat on the steps, knees to his chest, he leans back, and sighs. "Damn......that was," he begins, then stops, and raises an eyebrow. "I forgot doors, didn't I?" he asks himself aloud. He stands, walks to the nearest cell, and looks at it. "Yeah," he huffs, "forgot the f***ing doors."
Looking to where two slats meet at the corner of the cell, he leans down and cuts it from the floor. Cutting it from the ceiling as well, he fuses the meeting slats and makes the fuse bendable. He swings it a couple times, satisfied. Taking some spare metal bits, he creates a catch and bar, with a simple lock to go with it, and tests it from the inside. "Right....okay. If I can't get out, most people couldn't. Sounds good," he says, reaching between them and pulls the catch off of the slat, steps out, and reattaches it once outside.
He does this for all the cells, testing each one. "Okay," he says, leaning against the large cell. "Okay. That should be everything. Wait.....keys. Shit." Sighing, he turns to a pile of scrap, and grabs several good sized chunks of the stuff, sticking all but one piece into a pocket. Grabbing his coat, he makes his way upstairs.
"Okay," he calls, pulling the cloth off of his head. "Okay. I think I'm done with the jail."
Come in under the shadow of this red rock, and I will show you something different from either your shadow at morning, striding behind you, or your shadow at evening, rising to meet you. I shall show you fear in a handful of dust.
Chaz sat on the stairs and watched Alec work in awe, jaw hanging open a little. He had been looking at his plans for the cage doors when Alec walked past him, but shot up and waved his blueprints in the air.
Alec! Sir! Excuse me! I need your help with something!
A good scientist is a person with original ideas. A good engineer is a person who makes a design that works with as few original ideas as possible.
Alec [M:118:6:][D3v:http://rpgmenagerie.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=cs&thread=412&page=1#1242]"I see," said the blind man to the deaf lady.[0:Wandering the stacks.][1:Present and accounted for.]
Turning to the little man.....cat, Alec looks at him with a dead glance. "Yes, sir?"
Come in under the shadow of this red rock, and I will show you something different from either your shadow at morning, striding behind you, or your shadow at evening, rising to meet you. I shall show you fear in a handful of dust.
Grayell returned with empty buckets and placed them down inside the door. He was covered in dust and dirt and a little scratched up. Running his arm over his forehead only smeared his face. Dripping with some sweat he looked for Margrett.
Alec [M:118:6:][D3v:http://rpgmenagerie.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=cs&thread=412&page=1#1242]"I see," said the blind man to the deaf lady.[0:Wandering the stacks.][1:Present and accounted for.]
Glancing at blueprints, then back at Chaz, Alec sighs. "Now?" he asks. "There's a simple locking mechanism. That should do for..." Stopping, he pinches the bridge of his nose, and shakes his head. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I can do it. You just need to get me more metal." Pulling the shards out of his pocket, he shrugs. "I've got keys, here. Just nothing left for the locks themselves."
Come in under the shadow of this red rock, and I will show you something different from either your shadow at morning, striding behind you, or your shadow at evening, rising to meet you. I shall show you fear in a handful of dust.
Margrett had come downstairs and was inspecting Alec's work, shaking and bending the bars to make sure they weren't weak or loose. She nodded to Grayell.
Good work getting that metal man in here. He did good work.
That's alright. I can uh...work on this later. I'll get more metal, let you rest. But umm... He looked around suspiciously, then tried to pulled Alec aside.
I'm kind of a...maker of things. I just wanted to know if I paid you if you could make... He pulled another plan out of his back pocket. The top said "Iconographer."
..other sorts of things.
A good scientist is a person with original ideas. A good engineer is a person who makes a design that works with as few original ideas as possible.
This is good for now. They lock, at least. I think the kitten mentioned something about better locks, but these will do for now. The upstairs is just a matter of me getting furniture.
She opened a jail cell and stepped inside, looking at the hinge from the inside.
I think we're done for now. Everything else can be done later.