Adventures in Midris
King Jamin Hariariariam
A Master of transmutation and prince of Dia Mahn
Tales Of Jamin Hariariariam
Jamin Hariariariam followed behind his master as he shaped the dirt into rough walls, setting the dirt into stone. His practices weren’t on his master’s primary school, but when working as a team, the pair of them could weave wonders in the tapestry of the arcane. He preferred the finer works, though, as his goddess enjoyed them more. There weren’t that many followers of The Eye, and while he was no priest, he took pleasure in the knowledge that with his efforts she would be spared suffering. However, this tower was lacking in any true artistic flow as it was. Smooth, unyielding stone formed from what was once soil. In that, it could be considered pleasing to The Eye but his was not an art that was just pleasing. He wanted to bring her tears of joy, not simply exist as an unoffensive dot on the horizon. When his master was through, his work would only be beginning. Whatever supplies they brought in, he worked around; the walls needed more form. Whatever alchemical potions needed crafting, he worked around; the roof needed more detailing. The library was having its shelves filled with books, but he worked around that as well; the filigris wasn’t finished yet.
He worked into and through the night, resting only when unable to move his fingers nimbly, eating and drinking between projects. This might be some podunk town, there may be no shrine to The Eye here, but when he was done, she would gaze upon this town more often than others for his work would stand high above the muck and mire and show to her that she was loved.
With his work on the tower complete, he took a moment to rest before starting work on improving the town itself. The roads were mud, ruts filling with water and splashing filth about the masses. This wouldn’t do, no no no. He wasn’t so unwise as to turn the roads into a solid stone sheet; there would be an arch to the road for runoff, and splits like on cobble to let water pass through. Of course, the splits would be made into gravel to avoid the plant-life from despoiling the imagery he was working towards. He even set about making a rise to the rims of the roads, adding curbs and sidewalk slabs for housing and businesses. With a new influx of people in a town not able to hold them, refugee status would take effect, leaving people in squalor. He wouldn’t have that, no no.. but infrastructure was important.
After all, what good is a house you can’t get to without slipping, falling and breaking your neck?
His brush with death had been a fearsome one indeed. He hadn’t considered the idea that he’d ever engage in open combat. His was a craftsman’s trade, his sorcery meant to enhance and beautify. He realized long ago the potential that transmutation held for combat – it could be a truly destructive art – but he’d never felt the need. That had changed since the church had made their attack on not only the archmagus but his way of life as he knew it.
And so he returned to his chambers and opened the books he’d left to gather dust. The next time this situation would present itself, he would not be so vulnerable. After all, in the scope of transmutation, what else could one do but change?
The imposter hadn’t exactly had him fooled, really. He was a Wizard! What wizard would be fooled by such a shoddy imitation? It is to laugh! Still, Sadek’s tomes had met the flame by his hand, only the Treatise on the Transmutational Properties of the Mundane was left intact. That seemed to point at the fact that he had been deceived, but really, that wasn’t quite the case. His strike against Sadek’s arcanum was less about destroying the knowledge as attempting to uncover what force was against the ancient magister. He had hoped that upon returning, he could slowly gleam who sent the imposter and for what end-goal.
That… didn’t happen.
Fou-Fou had come back and the imposter was dead. A setback to say the least. Still, it revealed something quite extraordinary. The being was not simply a similar looking knoll, dyed blue by some mixture of berries and frog dyes, no it was a blessed beast of his own school of magic! It was the Transmundane Incarnate! To this being, truth was what it deigned for it to be, flesh was just clothing to be changed and altered! He
had to study it!
Of course that proved problematic with the others doing the same, his master among them, but he was the Master of Tasks! He demanded access to the being!
They denied him. Again. Infuriating…
So he simply went into the room below, warped the floor to make the creature fall and caught him. As seemed to be his pattern, if people ignored him, he would do the task personally. In this case, that was his desire anyways, so too bad for them. He would have this divine creature known; it was his new task.
h2 Tale 5
The idea of bringing his works of art literally to life was something simple and only shallowly considered at the time. It was after seeing them copied that Jamin put some actual thought into what he’d done. He’d turned stagnant, unmoving works into functional, mobile, semi-sentient works! These were similar to the clockwork men – as was his original inspiration – however unlike them, these were beauteous things! Well, they could be; right now they marched like stone men, heavy, cumbersome, not all that graceful. It was in that thought that he discovered the flaw with his designs. He had no real art to his OWN movements. He couldn’t dance, let alone move with grace on the battlefield. If he were to improve upon his creations, he’d need to improve upon himself first!
Fortunately, there was magic for everything.