122 Frost 90th
Ivar had been enjoying the peace in his home when the knock came. It was a rare day when he had no commitments, and he had planned to use the time to improve his scrivening techniques. The knock was a surprise. Ivar rarely had visitors at his home.
He set aside the parchment he had been working on and made his way to the door. On the other side stood a man he did not recognize. The man introduced himself as a local businessman, claiming that he needed information about someone Ivar had conversed with at the tavern the previous night. His face was stern, his voice urgent. The intrusion into his personal space for a matter that should have been discussed in a tavern unsettled him.
Ivar crossed his arms and gave the businessman a stern look. "Listen, I usually handle my business in a tavern, not my home. But since you're already here, let's make it quick. What's the person's name?"
The man looked a little taken aback but quickly composed himself. "His name is Eldric."
"Eldric..." Ivar paused for a moment, recollecting the previous night's chatter. "Yeah, I think I remember him. Fairly tall, with dark hair, right?"
The businessman nodded. "Yes, that's him. Do you know anything about his dealings?"
"Maybe. Maybe not," Ivar responded, making a point to maintain his stern expression. "But information doesn't come free."
The businessman grimaced at Ivar's words but seemed to understand. He pulled out a small pouch from his pocket. "How much?"
Ivar gave a reasonable figure then said, “next time you need my services, find me at the tavern."
With a reluctant nod, the man handed over the pouch. Ivar swiftly counted the coins and pocketed them before delving into his account of Eldric's conversation from the previous night. He told the businessman about Eldric's dealings in detail, the people he had been with, and the topics they discussed. Once he was done, he sent the man on his way, making it clear he wasn't open to further business at his home.
After closing the door, Ivar sighed. This breach of his privacy wasn't ideal, but at least he managed to make the most out of it. However, he couldn't help but feel disturbed. It was time to be more vigilant about what he said in the tavern, and to whom.
Permanence
Moderators: Principal Author, Regional Author, Associate Author, Junior Author
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Ivar
- Posts: 161
- Joined: Sat May 13, 2023 6:50 pm
- Character Sheet: viewtopic.php?p=24709#p24709
- Character Secrets: viewtopic.php?t=4433
word count: 409
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Ivar
- Posts: 161
- Joined: Sat May 13, 2023 6:50 pm
- Character Sheet: viewtopic.php?p=24709#p24709
- Character Secrets: viewtopic.php?t=4433
Ivar returned to his desk, thoughts of the businessman and Eldric pushed aside. Laid out before him were sheets of parchment and a selection of quills. These were the tools of his trade, simple yet holding such intricate power in their application. His eyes focused on the parchment already decorated with a complex pattern of pictographs. This was where the real work lay.
Learning the basic pictography was one thing, but making them permanent, making the magic within them last, that was the true challenge of scrivening. Ivar had been introduced to this level of complexity in his training, and he understood the theory behind it, but applying that theory was a different matter.
The elementary scrolls he had crafted were akin to a candle, burning brightly but quickly extinguishing. It was the nature of scrivening. The magic was infused into the parchment through the but there was no telling how long they’d last.
What Ivar was trying to achieve was akin to a lantern, its light steady and long-lasting. The idea was to layer the pictographs in a way that would prevent the magic stored within from ever going inert unless done so on purpose. It was a delicate balancing act that required a deep understanding of the flow of magic and the intricate symbology of the pictographs.
Sitting at his desk, Ivar unfurled his parchment full of notes from his classes. Each page was filled with tidbits that his teachers had drilled into their heads. He recalled the words of his master, each line of the symbol has a purpose, each curve an intention.
He studied his notes intently, his eyes flicking back and forth as he sought to connect the lines of the symbols, a task far more complex than it appeared. He noted the importance of the lines connecting smoothly without abrupt changes, ensuring an uninterrupted flow of magical energy.
In the quiet of his room, the quill scratching against parchment was the only sound that broke the silence. Every now and then, he would pause, lean back, and scrutinize his work, his eyes tracing the lines he had drawn, searching for any flaws.
When he got tired he looked at his front door and a thought made him smirk. “Wouldn't that be something? All I'd have to do is scriven the doorframe. Draw the right pictographs, layer them with a spell, and next time someone tried to knock, they'd find themselves at someone else’s doorstep. It's not even a difficult spell, just a simple blink down the street.
What if I used a more powerful spell? Now, that would be a sight to see. I'd love to see the look on that businessman's face when he realized he'd been transported clear across town, or maybe even the next town over. Maybe then they'd think twice about knocking on my door with their nosy questions. The only problem is the collateral damage. What if a friend knocks? Or what if the milkman leaves my delivery on the doorstep? They'd be just as surprised, and not in a good way.
But then again, maybe it’s about time I took a stand, put up some boundaries if people aren’t willing to respect the ones I have now. People see an open door and think it's an invitation to come right in, asking whatever they want, whenever they want. Of course, I'll have to be careful with the spell. Don't want to end up teleporting myself every time I want to step outside..."
Learning the basic pictography was one thing, but making them permanent, making the magic within them last, that was the true challenge of scrivening. Ivar had been introduced to this level of complexity in his training, and he understood the theory behind it, but applying that theory was a different matter.
The elementary scrolls he had crafted were akin to a candle, burning brightly but quickly extinguishing. It was the nature of scrivening. The magic was infused into the parchment through the but there was no telling how long they’d last.
What Ivar was trying to achieve was akin to a lantern, its light steady and long-lasting. The idea was to layer the pictographs in a way that would prevent the magic stored within from ever going inert unless done so on purpose. It was a delicate balancing act that required a deep understanding of the flow of magic and the intricate symbology of the pictographs.
Sitting at his desk, Ivar unfurled his parchment full of notes from his classes. Each page was filled with tidbits that his teachers had drilled into their heads. He recalled the words of his master, each line of the symbol has a purpose, each curve an intention.
He studied his notes intently, his eyes flicking back and forth as he sought to connect the lines of the symbols, a task far more complex than it appeared. He noted the importance of the lines connecting smoothly without abrupt changes, ensuring an uninterrupted flow of magical energy.
In the quiet of his room, the quill scratching against parchment was the only sound that broke the silence. Every now and then, he would pause, lean back, and scrutinize his work, his eyes tracing the lines he had drawn, searching for any flaws.
When he got tired he looked at his front door and a thought made him smirk. “Wouldn't that be something? All I'd have to do is scriven the doorframe. Draw the right pictographs, layer them with a spell, and next time someone tried to knock, they'd find themselves at someone else’s doorstep. It's not even a difficult spell, just a simple blink down the street.
What if I used a more powerful spell? Now, that would be a sight to see. I'd love to see the look on that businessman's face when he realized he'd been transported clear across town, or maybe even the next town over. Maybe then they'd think twice about knocking on my door with their nosy questions. The only problem is the collateral damage. What if a friend knocks? Or what if the milkman leaves my delivery on the doorstep? They'd be just as surprised, and not in a good way.
But then again, maybe it’s about time I took a stand, put up some boundaries if people aren’t willing to respect the ones I have now. People see an open door and think it's an invitation to come right in, asking whatever they want, whenever they want. Of course, I'll have to be careful with the spell. Don't want to end up teleporting myself every time I want to step outside..."
word count: 601
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Ivar
- Posts: 161
- Joined: Sat May 13, 2023 6:50 pm
- Character Sheet: viewtopic.php?p=24709#p24709
- Character Secrets: viewtopic.php?t=4433
Ivar first thought of the idea as a joke but now he had convinced himself that the project might be a worthy use of his time. He straightened his shoulders, moved his tabl aside, and approached the indoor surface of his door. The mundane door, a functional piece of wood, was about to become an intriguing experiment.
He ran his fingertips lightly across its surface, feeling the grain and texture, memorizing the nuances of its canvas where he was to etch his symbols. With a deep breath he dipped his quill into the dark fluid and began tracing out the first pictograph on the door.
The flow of the ink was difficult to control. For one he was working with a surface that ran vertically instead of paper on a desk. He also thought that a quill would be insufficient. It made more sense to him to carve the symbols into the door itself, but he didn’t think he had the tools necessary to do so.
He was upset to have run into his first roadblock so soon but he had plenty of time left in the day so he made a quick trip to the market and came back with a chisel and hammer in hand. Then, he got to work carefully chiseling small lines into the door. Parchment was forgiving, smooth, even. It readily embraced the quill and ink he put to it. Wood was different. It was stern and resistant. He'd have to persuade it with force and precision.
He gave the chisel a gentle tap with the hammer. The chisel bit into the wood, leaving behind a shallow groove. He adjusted his grip, took another swing, and this time, the line cut deeper into the wood. He ended up making a single jagged line several inches long when he intended it to be straight and much shorter.
The room filled with the rhythmic sound of chisel against wood, an occasional grunt of effort from Ivar, and the soft sifting sound of wood chips falling onto the floor. He had hoped for the lines to be smooth and straight, but they came out jagged. His mistakes were impossible for him to fix without somehow smoothing the surface… and he wasn’t excited about having to make another trip to buy sandpaper.
He decided to continue practicing. He accepted that he wasn’t going to successfully scriven the door today but he knew it would pay off eventually. He knew that someday he would be scrivening all sorts of things so learning how to work with wood was important. He felt that his hand was getting familiar with the hammer's weight, his eyes better at judging the force needed.
Laboring through the afternoon, Ivar tackled the stubborn wood with his chisel and hammer. Each strike of the hammer sent vibrations jolting up his arm, challenging muscles unaccustomed to such exertion. Hours of this repetitive work led to an unusual fatigue setting in.
By the time he hungered his hands felt worn, pulsating with an unfamiliar ache. However, despite the discomfort, there was a sense of satisfaction. He’d have to share tales of his progress with his friends at next morning’s lessons.
He ran his fingertips lightly across its surface, feeling the grain and texture, memorizing the nuances of its canvas where he was to etch his symbols. With a deep breath he dipped his quill into the dark fluid and began tracing out the first pictograph on the door.
The flow of the ink was difficult to control. For one he was working with a surface that ran vertically instead of paper on a desk. He also thought that a quill would be insufficient. It made more sense to him to carve the symbols into the door itself, but he didn’t think he had the tools necessary to do so.
He was upset to have run into his first roadblock so soon but he had plenty of time left in the day so he made a quick trip to the market and came back with a chisel and hammer in hand. Then, he got to work carefully chiseling small lines into the door. Parchment was forgiving, smooth, even. It readily embraced the quill and ink he put to it. Wood was different. It was stern and resistant. He'd have to persuade it with force and precision.
He gave the chisel a gentle tap with the hammer. The chisel bit into the wood, leaving behind a shallow groove. He adjusted his grip, took another swing, and this time, the line cut deeper into the wood. He ended up making a single jagged line several inches long when he intended it to be straight and much shorter.
The room filled with the rhythmic sound of chisel against wood, an occasional grunt of effort from Ivar, and the soft sifting sound of wood chips falling onto the floor. He had hoped for the lines to be smooth and straight, but they came out jagged. His mistakes were impossible for him to fix without somehow smoothing the surface… and he wasn’t excited about having to make another trip to buy sandpaper.
He decided to continue practicing. He accepted that he wasn’t going to successfully scriven the door today but he knew it would pay off eventually. He knew that someday he would be scrivening all sorts of things so learning how to work with wood was important. He felt that his hand was getting familiar with the hammer's weight, his eyes better at judging the force needed.
Laboring through the afternoon, Ivar tackled the stubborn wood with his chisel and hammer. Each strike of the hammer sent vibrations jolting up his arm, challenging muscles unaccustomed to such exertion. Hours of this repetitive work led to an unusual fatigue setting in.
By the time he hungered his hands felt worn, pulsating with an unfamiliar ache. However, despite the discomfort, there was a sense of satisfaction. He’d have to share tales of his progress with his friends at next morning’s lessons.
word count: 538
Ivar
Loot:
-1 SP
+1 Chisel are Hammer set
Injuries: N/A
Points 8xp (can be used for scrivening)
Comments: ivar has a good thought process. Scrivening permanence is based in 2 factors. First the skill level of the scrivener, and second the materials used. To have a real chance of making something almost permanent the skill needs to be at expert or higher, journeyman can do it potentially but it's a stretch as their technical abilities have not grow high enough yet. As for materials, it is important to remember that a pictograph is only as sturdy as what is is made with, and on. Glyphs carved into a doorway inevitably wear with time, and don't forget that there is magic running through the glyphs which also wear down the material.
In the price list you notice there are scrivening specific materials that are treated to handle the burden of magic place on them. Anything you want to make permanent has to be treated the same or similar, or be made from a naturally magically resistant material. I.e. paper made from fire proof trees won't burn up from a fireball spell imbued in it.
I'm around for discussion whenever you have questions!
word count: 216