Yet another one finished; the young boy’s hands were already caked with the clay he’s been working with and his fingers had long grown sore.
“Master, why am I making these masks?”
The old man sitting enjoying the morning sun looked quizzically at the young boy.
“You know the answer to that, we use these masks to remind people that these vessels have been refilled and no longer house those that they once knew. Some can’t take seeing a face that they once knew.”
The boy pouted indigently, “I know that but why am I making these mask? Couldn’t a craftsman make these for you? Shouldn’t I be learning how to forge life? You said I had a natural connection to the spirit energies but I haven’t done anything with them yet.”
“Yes it’s true your connection is quite strong but you don’t have the right temperament yet. Making these masks will teach you patience and an appreciation for a job well done. Plus being on the river allows you to see what it is your work will do.”
The boy looked around; the river was bustling with life, potters gathering clay for today’s pots, village women washing clothes, and a few masked figures off in the distance carrying a multitude of things. The boy let out a dissatisfied sigh; that was not what he was hoping to hear but had been with the master long enough not to push the issue.
Some time passed and many more masks were made. Suddenly the boy’s brow furrowed with a deep thought. He turned towards his master, “Master about something you said. What happens when we die and our vessels empty? What happens to the spirit energy?”
The old man turned to his apprentice with a small smirk on his face, “My that’s a deep question to jump into. To be honest I don’t know and no one really does. We know that the energies go back to the spirit realm but beyond that we don’t know. Some of my more cynical peers think that the energies lose their forms and the person they once were is gone forever. But there are others, myself included, that have felt… well something on the other side that is unlike the typical energies and whatever it is resists us. I think that those who once were still exist in some form.
The crease in the boy’s brow deepened, “So if they still exist could we bring someone back completely?”
The old man looked saddened for a moment, “Everyone eventually asks that question. No we can’t. You understand once you fill your first vessel, what we do is open a path for the energy and crudely shape it. Even if we could do more finding a single person’s essence in a sea of spirit energy would be nigh impossible. Perhaps in the future Forgers may have the skill but not now.”
The boy went silent for a few moments and then a mischievous look spread across his face, “Master are you having me make the mask so we can have conversations like that?”
The old man laughed, “That and the craftsmen ask far too much.”
“Master, why am I making these masks?”
The old man sitting enjoying the morning sun looked quizzically at the young boy.
“You know the answer to that, we use these masks to remind people that these vessels have been refilled and no longer house those that they once knew. Some can’t take seeing a face that they once knew.”
The boy pouted indigently, “I know that but why am I making these mask? Couldn’t a craftsman make these for you? Shouldn’t I be learning how to forge life? You said I had a natural connection to the spirit energies but I haven’t done anything with them yet.”
“Yes it’s true your connection is quite strong but you don’t have the right temperament yet. Making these masks will teach you patience and an appreciation for a job well done. Plus being on the river allows you to see what it is your work will do.”
The boy looked around; the river was bustling with life, potters gathering clay for today’s pots, village women washing clothes, and a few masked figures off in the distance carrying a multitude of things. The boy let out a dissatisfied sigh; that was not what he was hoping to hear but had been with the master long enough not to push the issue.
Some time passed and many more masks were made. Suddenly the boy’s brow furrowed with a deep thought. He turned towards his master, “Master about something you said. What happens when we die and our vessels empty? What happens to the spirit energy?”
The old man turned to his apprentice with a small smirk on his face, “My that’s a deep question to jump into. To be honest I don’t know and no one really does. We know that the energies go back to the spirit realm but beyond that we don’t know. Some of my more cynical peers think that the energies lose their forms and the person they once were is gone forever. But there are others, myself included, that have felt… well something on the other side that is unlike the typical energies and whatever it is resists us. I think that those who once were still exist in some form.
The crease in the boy’s brow deepened, “So if they still exist could we bring someone back completely?”
The old man looked saddened for a moment, “Everyone eventually asks that question. No we can’t. You understand once you fill your first vessel, what we do is open a path for the energy and crudely shape it. Even if we could do more finding a single person’s essence in a sea of spirit energy would be nigh impossible. Perhaps in the future Forgers may have the skill but not now.”
The boy went silent for a few moments and then a mischievous look spread across his face, “Master are you having me make the mask so we can have conversations like that?”
The old man laughed, “That and the craftsmen ask far too much.”
C or PC:NPC diplo at this point. And it will make the update come faster.
). Cilia sheathed in obsidian glass are commonly used by warriors and can either be used as melee weapons (with the warrior lashing an appendage at an enemy) or as ranged weapons (lashing out with said appendage and then releasing the obsidian darts into the air).
