Abraxas Domain

[speak_n_spell]

Scale the steep pitch of the Singularity’s crater, and eventually the stone and scree gives way to low herbaceous scrub. Look up, and trees begin to dot the hillside, growing ever thicker and greener and denser the farther one walks. Mist wreathes their roots, rising from carpets of moss flung over the enormous matchstick tumble of other, fallen, trees. Look down again, and realize there’s a track of sorts underfoot - twin ruts pressed into the ground, giving rise to the rich scent of crushed ferns. The tracks weave through the trees, so large now that their boughs shade out smaller saplings, trunks enormous columns yards and yards apart. Plenty of room for a wagon to pass. The sun glows emerald through broad leaves, thickening the humid air like honey. Follow the tracks.




A colossal tree reached the end of its lifespan and toppled, punching a hole in the canopy as it took neighbors down with it. The open space torn up by its roots has long grown over with grasses and wideleafed ferns. A spring bubbles from a jumble of rocks unearthed by the rootwad, trickling over and through and beneath mossy rocks until it pools in a basin lined with pebbles and reeds. Look a little closer, and signs of human modification to the pool become clear: stones set in place to keep the water from seeping back into the ground straightaway, lillypads and algae scooped away so the water source won’t be choked out. Similar clues pop out from the glade’s too—perfect beauty; intermingled with the shrubs are berry bushes, runners of beans, clusters of corn and wheat, a low-lying patch of strawberries. Tucked in the hollow of the downed tree itself is a mortared stone oven, with an iron pot hung from a tripod nearby. A little fence of woven saplings keeps a handful of goats from churning the pool to mud or stripping the berries and beans, but does nothing to stop as many chickens from scratching the entire area for insects. One of them is perpetually napping on the stone oven, unconcerned about ending up in the pot.




Intricately carved and brightly painted in blues and yellows and greens, the bow-roofed wagon sits around the backside of the giant fallen tree. The biggest mystery of the domain is how the wagon isn’t the first thing anyone notices. Bundles of herbs hang from the eaves above the door, alternating with wind chimes of bleached wood, bone, and glass. The shutters stand open and light shines from inside, visible even during the brightest daytime hours. The door may or may not be open, but a glance inside reveals many cunningly-inset cabinets and drawers, their surfaces serving double-duty as benches, tabletops, counters, and bed platforms. Every surface is carved and painted with motifs of plants, animals, or even people going about their tasks. Any area not so embellished is padded with elaborately embroidered and woven textiles, cushions, or curtains. A fat iron-belly stove squats in one corner, a kettle perpetually nearby.




Behind the stone oven, much of the tree’s heartwood has rotted away. A dark tunnel stretches beyond the light of the fire, twice as tall as a person and three times as wide. Take a light and venture inside, and a secondary workspace is revealed; shelves and worktables carved into the sapwood, lined with books and papers, bound and unbound, stoppered vials of inks and tinctures, scales and weights and other tools meant to render materials to their base components. Smokeless lanterns hang at regular intervals from the ceiling, interspersed here and there with bored chimney holes to vent smoke and fumes. Reed mats line the floor, new overlaying old where the resident rodents and birds have caused damage. A screech owl squints balefully from the farthest recesses of the trunk. It may or may not swoop at visitors.

Comments

[wiedzminka]

Sypha! I was joking.

[ Ciri gasps, not sure if she's appalled or amused. It probably says something that they both thought of this idea separately, even if Ciri claims it was in jest. She was definitely wondering.

Well. That's some answer.

She considers this, thoughtful. ]

So the magic in question is your own, activated through the will of another?