Topic: Etches of Secrets

Smoke

Date: 2008-04-11 15:47 EST
His accidental arrival to Rhydin would not be received without swiftness. Being the seasoned traveler he was...He knew to adapt.

His steps brought him to the Market. With some guiding words from a pedestrian or two, of course. Unlike most men, he knew when it was ridiculous to let pride get in his way.

He didn't stay there long. Yet, he spoke to many. Perseverance was his greatest weapon. His devotion to surviving kept his hopes stubbornly alive.

Yet, his hopes were not hopes. More like objectives. There was no idealism in his future.

Hours would lead him to those who needed work. His kind of work, of course. He started with merchants. Shoppes with rare, artful works.

The artisan obviously had tested these ropes before. Drunken nights of mystery had trained him well.

Smoke

Date: 2008-04-11 16:05 EST
"I do custom designs with miscellaneous instruments. I can do just about anything you would need."

He spoke his resume. He had his portfolio with him in the form of his belongings. He showed many hopeful employers his works.

Works? His crossbow. Engravings of divine symbols and smooth symmetry on the surfaces.

Every encounter was the same. He'd show, explain, and hope. He knew it would yield something eventually. It worked like this wherever he went. He'd done this before. Sure, this was some other dimension.

Skyler was never one to invite doubt into his efforts. Or fear, for that matter.

Smoke

Date: 2008-04-12 17:26 EST
The Scene was still. Rome was at its most turbulent. Masses of amoebas would slide against each other and mold together. Assimilation, disengagement, and dispersing were rampant. Zig zags and precise cuttings of maneuvers allowed him to aviate through them. Years of experience in the waves of masses allowed him ease in this aspect.

He was in Vatican City. He had been to Greece. He had been to America. He had been to France. He had even down some jewel workings in the very Emerald Isle. He was a traveling artisan. A designer. A carpenter.

He made simple necessities aesthetically elegant. He hand-carves crown moldings. Engraves names, causes, and divinities into the barrels of fancy guns.

His beloved Crossbow, named Vico, is his transportable dual-used portfolio. A weapon to fend for himself as well as one where he can display a simple icon of his broad carpentry and artistry. He designed the bow himself. It retains the classic design, only with innovative etchings that dually work in the favor of the weapon's efficiency.

Its name, "Vico," is embellished into the wood classically for emphasis. You knew the weapon's name. If you were close enough.

Cultures mixed and matched themselves in his character. His supreme principles linger in his code of chivalry. Ladies first. He was a severe believer in the ways of courtesies. Charming, to a fault. Kind, also, to a fault. That was Skyler.

His blackened duster was dipped with wear and tear. Countless buckles ran vertically along the ends of the duster. Underneath' Layers upon layers of thermal clothing. The springs are coming near, but old fashion habits die hard. Long and hard. To Skyler, however, they might just be immortal to boot.

Smoke

Date: 2008-04-13 14:05 EST
Skyler wasn't one to expect much. He knew what was desired would be brought to him with nothing but efforts.

His efforts. His intentions and actions alone. He was brought up to expect work ethic. There isn't much to be learned other than that principle.

His parents were not known to him. But he was no orphan. They had died when he was young. Very,very young. His youth saved him of the tragedy. He missed them, yet relished inwardly that he remembered next to nothing of them.

He survived. Their efforts saved him. Knowledge that his very creators lived by the code inspired him to follow suit. To keep their code in life.

His life would be their wish. They died for him. He knew this. Yet, intensities were never things he felt to lose himself with.

He lost himself with work. With patience.

The beauty of creating was his delight. His one passion. He strived for perfection. Yet, he too strived for broadening his skills.

Education thrilled him.

His gift to this world was bringing beauty to simplicity. Making tools and necessities into lovely views. Making lives more livable.

Smiles would be forever upon his face.

Then, he resumed working on his latest project.

The project' Mosaic columns for a patio.

Smoke

Date: 2008-04-13 14:18 EST
His hair was drawn into a simple ponytail. He toiled with gentle silence.

No rigor filled him. Only the rules of the craft at hand. His fingers were doused with white cement. Fingers caked with putty.

His dirtied rolled up sleeves were of the turtleneck style. He never did rid himself of the habit of wearing his layers. More was better than less.

His arms were carved. Veins were naturally thick and protruding from his skin. Hours were nothing. His faith lied in his own speed.

He was no superhuman. He just knew that'd the job would be done if he kept up his speed. Nothing more there was to it, so to speak.

Knelt before the veneers of cement around the steel rod of thick cylinders, he placed polygon-shaped shards of richly stained glass into the putty.

Pushing with his tedious thumb, it sunk into it. His mind of artistic works allowed him to find the elements of art and principles of design in each piece.

It would depend on the object. Its purpose. Then, its placement in the particular space. Sometimes he would hum to himself. Of even mumble thoughts to himself out loud.

Two columns were complete. Four more were left. His day would be to complete them by sun down.