TIMESTAMP: Ash 33rd, 122
NOTES: -
NOTES: -
- - -
Ash 33rd, 122
Over days prior, in the afternoons, Aardwalden had been sculpting his body with Para-Elemental Quartz Glass. A tough material, lighter than the stone by perhaps a fifth. It started with an arm, on that first day. Then, another arm. Then his legs. Yesterday, his torso.
Today, he would risk doing so to his face. Congealing aether around his fingers, Aardwalden called to the flame before him, bundles of twigs above a pool of ash cradling Magmatyte beginning to smolder as he fed them their due. At that same time, he called upon the earth, asking it to yield him one of the stones by which he was most familiar: quartz. Together, these elements fused together as he touched his chin, and began sculpting along his grooves, transmuting what was already there to another material entirely.
Aard’s face felt hot, and it was: he glowed, a hot, vivid white until he rapidly began to cool. Afterlong, pools of light stared out from sockets of glass, and Aard touched over his smooth body with curiosity. Interesting. He glowed, before. Now he really glowed, the optical qualities of the glass giving his entire body a phosphorescent quality from the veins within him. The quartz glass was made entirely with his aether, free of any impurities that might block the light passing through him. If he stood in the sunlight, where his veins would be drowned out and smothered by golden rays, he’d definitely be hard to see so camouflaged, only the grooves on his body highlighting his outline to the eye.
While impressive, Aardwalden still had other projects to contend with. Scratching quartz designs along the walls, elaborate and droning Pictographic sequences marred the surface of the stony interior of his home like mad cave paintings etched into the surface. They spoke of wind, of yields and forces. Of theories on how to reach Solunarium, and which direction it might be. Indeed, there was a scrawling of the world, with various dots and points representing likely locales. These Pictographs were unlike Scrivening, more direct and looping upon themselves in the way more familiar to a Runeforger.
Choosing to rest as his blue body alighted the etchings all around him like twinkling stars, Aardwalden settled down into a trance. The rabble often had need of him in the afternoon. Would they think him strange, in this new form? He was a private man, and few had spoken to him since he’d begun altering his body to this degree.
Aardwalden, the Glass Statue.
Some hours later, a distant sound lured him out of his trance, and his eyes slowly opened to bright, blue pools. His body still glowed, casting that haunting light over the rounded dome of the commons he'd dug.
Ash 33rd, 122
Over days prior, in the afternoons, Aardwalden had been sculpting his body with Para-Elemental Quartz Glass. A tough material, lighter than the stone by perhaps a fifth. It started with an arm, on that first day. Then, another arm. Then his legs. Yesterday, his torso.
Today, he would risk doing so to his face. Congealing aether around his fingers, Aardwalden called to the flame before him, bundles of twigs above a pool of ash cradling Magmatyte beginning to smolder as he fed them their due. At that same time, he called upon the earth, asking it to yield him one of the stones by which he was most familiar: quartz. Together, these elements fused together as he touched his chin, and began sculpting along his grooves, transmuting what was already there to another material entirely.
Aard’s face felt hot, and it was: he glowed, a hot, vivid white until he rapidly began to cool. Afterlong, pools of light stared out from sockets of glass, and Aard touched over his smooth body with curiosity. Interesting. He glowed, before. Now he really glowed, the optical qualities of the glass giving his entire body a phosphorescent quality from the veins within him. The quartz glass was made entirely with his aether, free of any impurities that might block the light passing through him. If he stood in the sunlight, where his veins would be drowned out and smothered by golden rays, he’d definitely be hard to see so camouflaged, only the grooves on his body highlighting his outline to the eye.
While impressive, Aardwalden still had other projects to contend with. Scratching quartz designs along the walls, elaborate and droning Pictographic sequences marred the surface of the stony interior of his home like mad cave paintings etched into the surface. They spoke of wind, of yields and forces. Of theories on how to reach Solunarium, and which direction it might be. Indeed, there was a scrawling of the world, with various dots and points representing likely locales. These Pictographs were unlike Scrivening, more direct and looping upon themselves in the way more familiar to a Runeforger.
Choosing to rest as his blue body alighted the etchings all around him like twinkling stars, Aardwalden settled down into a trance. The rabble often had need of him in the afternoon. Would they think him strange, in this new form? He was a private man, and few had spoken to him since he’d begun altering his body to this degree.
Aardwalden, the Glass Statue.
Some hours later, a distant sound lured him out of his trance, and his eyes slowly opened to bright, blue pools. His body still glowed, casting that haunting light over the rounded dome of the commons he'd dug.
- - -
