Several wiry cages rattled in the dark room, holding fast against the efforts of the various wildlife kept within. They were mostly squirrels, some rats, and on top of a large black trunk with a velvety texture was his prize - a magpie. The bird was the largest thing in the room at the moment, and undoubtedly had enough substance to fuel a special project. Currently the storage room - a small hole in the wall in The Attics - was unlit. Outside of the dim light trickling in under the crack of the thick oaken door, darkness shrouded the cages and the forgotten shelves and chests they sat amidst. None of the animals called out, though they did struggle in vain against the cage bars - and for the smarter ones, the locks. The cages held, though, as they had since the captive animals had been abducted to this musty closet.
The lock on the door jangled loudly, silencing the caged creatures. The mechanism shifted and turned, then the door swung slowly open on near silent hinges - only interrupted at the very end of its arc by a jarring squeal that cut through the quiet like an axe through wood. Beyond the door lay scattered twilight, just visible enough to make out the rough shape of what looked to be a large scruffy man wearing thick furs.
"
Lücht," came a voice from the haggard silhouette, higher and quieter than would be assumed from such a shape. A soft coppery light illuminated the small room, flickering and wavering like the flame of a candle... but there was no candle in sight. The light emanated from with a small stone, an inner luminosity so dim itself that the corners of the room remained cast in shadow. The rats and squirrels retreated to the edges of their cells, and the magpie let out a strangled cry at the sudden light. The shrouded figure was in actuality Percival Clearwater, wearing a robe that dramatically altered his normal appearance. Any observer might think him a swamp sorcerer, or some wild hunter clothed in the trophies of his kills. Under his collection of skins Percy wore layers of rough black fabric, fraying at some edges and held together with many improvised seams and conjoined hems. His face could only just be seen in the soft light, as his eyes scanned the room. Setting down the glowing stone on another large trunk laid on its side - his makeshift table - Percy moved to the rows of cages. His long robes dragged softly behind him, fur and leather and wool scratching lightly against ancient worn wood. Tracing a finger in the air along the cages, he scanned his captives for the next "assistant" among them. Locking his eyes onto a large grey rat curled tightly into the corner of its cage, Percy moved toward it. The rat, once still and silent in its housing, now tried almost violently to escape the cage. With renewed fervour it gnawed on steel wires, tried to force its way through the bars and burrow out of the floor. No such luck befell the poor thing, however, and Percy plucked the cage up and away from its neighbours. He brought it to his worktable, set down the hysterical rat in its cage and fished into one of his pockets. Out came a
roughly carved humanoid figurine, crudely hewn from dead wood. This too was set on the trunk, laying down on its back.
Percy inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and holding his hands out in front of the caged rat as if to stop it from coming near him. The Rat now launched into a new level of panic, screeching wildly in fear, a grating and inhuman noise. Percy began to chant low, under his breath, and opened his eyes... though his pupils had rolled back into his head. The rat threw itself against the walls of the cage, shaking the wire walls and scooting across the trunk. Desperate and panicked squeals escaped its jaws, but Percy did not hear them. He heard nothing. He felt nothing, except the thing he had come for today. He felt the rat's soul. The rat no longer moved, did not scrabble around its cage or throw itself in attempts at freedom. It was paralysed, eyes wide and staring up, locked on some invisible target seemingly above and behind Percy. Then, abruptly, it collapsed. Percy's eyes remained open, his face slack and devoid of emotion. His eyes became bloodshot, the veiny whites exposed. Shifting a hand from the rat towards his wooden statuette, Percy's chanting increased in speed. Now, one hand in front of the limp rat and the other hovering above a humid figurine, Percy's fingers clenched and became like talons. His chanting ceased mid sentence, a rattling breath escaping his lips, before his eyes rolled back forward. He lowered his hands and stretched his fingers back out, as if they were stiff. His eyes were still bloodshot, though the redness was fading quickly. Percy clenched his jaw, lips pressed thin, and removed the still rat from its cage. He put it into the same pocket from which he drew the wooden man, though not for any particular reason.
The Wooden Man itself laid still, staring dead at the ceiling. Percy's gaze narrowed on the little man - and for a moment, nothing happened. There was complete silence - the animals had been silent, terrified since he had begun - and Percy's own breath held in anticipation. Minutely, almost impossibly, the wood twitched. It shifted, began to move. Sat up. Percy's eyes lit up, although his grim expression did not change. The little wooden man hobbled onto its stubby legs, stumbled but righted itself, and watched Percy emptily. It was alive... but there was nothing to live for. It had no purpose, no drive. Percy allowed a small smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. This one was good.
"Stay still, make no movements," He instructed the little golem, before picking it up and hiding it in another pocket of his robes. He extinguished the glowing stone with a wave of his hand, and picked that up too before returning the cage to its place among the others. He then left the room, and the door swung closed behind him, though there was no creak to accompany it. The lock jangled, slid closed, and the storage closet was again plunged into darkness. The magpie let out a mournful cry, quiet and wavering, and then there was nothing.
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Now dressed in the azure robes of Wyrdwood's upperclassmen, cuffs adorned and hat discarded, Percy walked briskly towards Maergath's study. The Magister had summoned him and so, like a dog at beck and call, he came. Percy much more enjoyed the roomy, well lit halls of the main castle to the dim spires that led to The Attics. Still, he had his seclusion up there.
Sacrifices in the name of progress and all. Coming up to the similarly bulky door (perhaps all the doors in this castle had the prerequisite of being ludicrously thick and heavy?) of the Magister's study, Percy nervously stuck his hand into the inner pocket of his robes for perhaps the thirtieth time since beginning his walk here. The little wooden man hadn't moved since the last time, or even the first for that matter. Obedient, but only because Percy hadn't given it any instructions that could be left up to interpretation. He calmed his nerves, withdrew his hand and rapped sharply on the door before opening it anyway and sticking his head through.
"Magister Maergath? Hello?" He began, hoping he wasn't interrupting something important. But then, he had been called, hadn't he? If he was interrupting, that wasn't so much his own fault but the Magister's. Best not to bring that up, though, if he did. "It's me, Percy!"
@Whim
