Glittering spires of steel | Glowfic Constellation

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Version: 1
Fields Changed	(Original)
Updated	Mar 26, 2017 1:04 AM
Content	Glittering spires of steel Gannayev wanders into Nar Shaddaa and meets Occlus Gannayev-of-Dreams Aestrix Gannayev-of-Dreams is rudely awakened from his latest dream by a droplet of water landing square on his forehead. He huffs, affronted, and cracks open an eye. A second droplet follows the first, this time impacting his nose. Not a one off, then. He sits up, looking at the roof of the barn in irritation. "Your shoddy craftsmanship," he says accusingly to the barn, "has disturbed me from a rather interesting dream." The barn is silent. "Nothing to say in your defense? Not even another guilty drip?" Another droplet impacts his head, dampening his hair. "Yes, I thought so. Criminals like you so rarely can contain themselves." Banter with an inanimate barn is briefly amusing, but only briefly. He's already tired of the joke, so now he must figure out what to do. He could attempt to find a place he won't get dripped on, try to rediscover that dream he'd been having, but he doesn't have high hopes for either. This barn is badly maintained, which is possibly why the farmer that owns it consented to letting a hagspawn sleep in it. Finding a place that'll stay dry would be an exercise in frustration and futility, unless he went and patched the barn himself. Easy enough to do for a shaman of his power, but really, why bother? The dream he'd been in is likely impossible to chase down, now. Madmen are so inconvenient about staying still. Besides, if his sense of time is correct (and it hasn't been incorrect in years) it's already morning. Sleeping in too much is likely to incite an irate farmer, which sounds even more unpleasant than getting further dampened. It's less trouble to just get up, and try to find something to do to stave off the insatiable hound of boredom. He moves to a sitting position, hands loosely clasped on his lap and his eyes closed. Another droplet impacts his head, and he hisses an annoyed breath through his teeth. Shoddy craftsmanship. Still, however shoddy the craftsmanship, he's managed to commune with spirits in worse conditions. He can tolerate a bit of a drizzle, if he has to. He proceeds through the typical dealmaking that takes up his morning - usually he pays his end of the deal with shared scraps of interesting dreams he's come across or crafted, a sharing of the taste of his breakfast or the smell of burning incense, and occasional minor tasks, when they're not too out of the way. This day isn't particularly remarkable - there's a hawk spirit that wants to feel the wind with him as he hunts, an otter that wants to feel water rushing through Gann's fingers, a bear that wants an offering at an out of the way shrine, among others. Gann keeps track of who wants what with the practiced ease of someone that has done this daily since he was seven. It might have been impressive once, but now it's only a passing amusement. Something to keep his attention, for a little while. The most remarkable payment he agrees to is to take an inquisitive sparrow to get a closer look at, quote, 'a strange sounding anomaly,' which sounds quite interesting enough to do for free. Not that he's going to. A good spirit shaman never does anything for free. His deals made, he opens his eyes and stands. He runs through the easiest of the tasks immediately - burned incense for the squirrel, made from the fat of that rabbit he killed and a couple of plants he harvested; a bit of water from his canteen through his fingers for the otter, caught and cleaned with a cantrip and returned before it's wasted on the barn's ground; a farm plot purged of parasites, for the farmer; breakfast, for himself. Soon enough, he's free of all tasks but the sparrow's. Off he walks, at a leisurely pace, absently wondering if this will be worth the lost dream. It is. Gannayev tilts his head at the tear in front of him, eyeing the ripples reverberating through the ethereal plane. If he's not mistaken, that's a tear to another plane. A curiosity, especially here, in the Rashemi wilds, with no wizard or sorcerer to create it. He observes it thoughtfully for a minute, decides that it's stable enough for his purposes, and sits down to figure out if any of his current entourage could manage to bring him back. Curiosity and boredom are not enough to cause all of his senses to leave him. The squirrel could get the direction right, with the hawk helping with the aim, and with another spirit providing the power for the transition itself - yes, he could get himself back. He considers for another second, consults with the spirits to see the general opinion - most of them are quite positive - and steps through.
Version: 2
Fields Changed	Authors locked
Updated	Mar 08, 2019 9:47 PM

Gannayev-of-Dreams is rudely awakened from his latest dream by a droplet of water landing square on his forehead. He huffs, affronted, and cracks open an eye. A second droplet follows the first, this time impacting his nose. Not a one off, then. He sits up, looking at the roof of the barn in irritation.

"Your shoddy craftsmanship," he says accusingly to the barn, "has disturbed me from a rather interesting dream." The barn is silent. "Nothing to say in your defense? Not even another guilty drip?" Another droplet impacts his head, dampening his hair. "Yes, I thought so. Criminals like you so rarely can contain themselves."

Banter with an inanimate barn is briefly amusing, but only briefly. He's already tired of the joke, so now he must figure out what to do. He could attempt to find a place he won't get dripped on, try to rediscover that dream he'd been having, but he doesn't have high hopes for either. This barn is badly maintained, which is possibly why the farmer that owns it consented to letting a hagspawn sleep in it. Finding a place that'll stay dry would be an exercise in frustration and futility, unless he went and patched the barn himself. Easy enough to do for a shaman of his power, but really, why bother? The dream he'd been in is likely impossible to chase down, now. Madmen are so inconvenient about staying still.

Besides, if his sense of time is correct (and it hasn't been incorrect in years) it's already morning. Sleeping in too much is likely to incite an irate farmer, which sounds even more unpleasant than getting further dampened. It's less trouble to just get up, and try to find something to do to stave off the insatiable hound of boredom. He moves to a sitting position, hands loosely clasped on his lap and his eyes closed. Another droplet impacts his head, and he hisses an annoyed breath through his teeth. Shoddy craftsmanship. Still, however shoddy the craftsmanship, he's managed to commune with spirits in worse conditions. He can tolerate a bit of a drizzle, if he has to.

He proceeds through the typical dealmaking that takes up his morning - usually he pays his end of the deal with shared scraps of interesting dreams he's come across or crafted, a sharing of the taste of his breakfast or the smell of burning incense, and occasional minor tasks, when they're not too out of the way. This day isn't particularly remarkable - there's a hawk spirit that wants to feel the wind with him as he hunts, an otter that wants to feel water rushing through Gann's fingers, a bear that wants an offering at an out of the way shrine, among others. Gann keeps track of who wants what with the practiced ease of someone that has done this daily since he was seven. It might have been impressive once, but now it's only a passing amusement. Something to keep his attention, for a little while. The most remarkable payment he agrees to is to take an inquisitive sparrow to get a closer look at, quote, 'a strange sounding anomaly,' which sounds quite interesting enough to do for free. Not that he's going to. A good spirit shaman never does anything for free.

His deals made, he opens his eyes and stands. He runs through the easiest of the tasks immediately - burned incense for the squirrel, made from the fat of that rabbit he killed and a couple of plants he harvested; a bit of water from his canteen through his fingers for the otter, caught and cleaned with a cantrip and returned before it's wasted on the barn's ground; a farm plot purged of parasites, for the farmer; breakfast, for himself. Soon enough, he's free of all tasks but the sparrow's. Off he walks, at a leisurely pace, absently wondering if this will be worth the lost dream.

It is. Gannayev tilts his head at the tear in front of him, eyeing the ripples reverberating through the ethereal plane. If he's not mistaken, that's a tear to another plane. A curiosity, especially here, in the Rashemi wilds, with no wizard or sorcerer to create it. He observes it thoughtfully for a minute, decides that it's stable enough for his purposes, and sits down to figure out if any of his current entourage could manage to bring him back. Curiosity and boredom are not enough to cause all of his senses to leave him. The squirrel could get the direction right, with the hawk helping with the aim, and with another spirit providing the power for the transition itself - yes, he could get himself back.

He considers for another second, consults with the spirits to see the general opinion - most of them are quite positive - and steps through.