Zarth Short 01

Begun 4/22/11 by Ziggy

Tale

In the angry glow, the gritty sweat trickles down Gavist's wrinkled brow. It beads around his black goggles, and makes an excursion down the side of his nose. It would have left a tiny stalactite on the end, but he smears it aside with his adjustment hammer. Cursed distractions.

The friction furnace screams as he hauls harder on the throttle. The light from within brightens to a searing green, shot with orange sparks. Gavist's sub Tagon wields the sparks from the vessel and into a little mortar resting on an anvil. They glow sullenly in the bottom like tiny coals. The furnace's scream subsides to a numbing howl. Gavist gives the shaft a couple of taps from his hammer. He runes on his clay, roughly translated "This batch is nearly done." The howling continues. The sparks grow fewer. Finally he releases the throttle and the shaft shudders to a halt. One hand lifts the grimy goggles to his forehead.

Locking the shaft, Gavist points to the lift. Together he and Tagon haul the clattering chains and extract the still glowing tip from the furnace. Gavist points to Tagon, and then to the shaft tip, encrusted with ore leavings. Gavist sweeps his hand downward and nods curtly; Tagon's eyes narrow.

Grasping the shaft Tagon thrusts his palm sharply downward. With a sudden ringing snap the shaft is clean, but the tip is severed clean off, sinking into the solidifying slag. A savage rumble of disapproval cascades from Gavist's chest as he backhands Tagon head over heels. With a pair of tongs, Gavist extracts the glowing tip from the furnace and wields it clean with a gesture. He then slaps it firmly onto a shelf...

Just before Tagon tackles him! Reeling over sideways, Gavist thrashes with his left arms as Tagon scrabbles at his face. They go to the ground in a pile of battery gears, scattering a few singing across the floor. The toussle continues for a few moments. Gavist's goggles are knocked askew. Then, a pause. Tagon has caught Gavist with a chain around the neck!

"Clongk!" go the tongs. "Plugunk." goes Tagon. Gavist runes briefly on his clay; Roughly translated it means, "I'm still swinging, punk kid."

Snorting a satisfied "fumpf" he shrugs the chain from his shoulders and turns to the precious mortar. Just enough heat left now. They will have to be quick. Tagon stirs on the floor, and Gavist lifts him to his feet by his blackened smock. His hands reach for the pestle tip as he knocks his goggles back down over his eyes. Tagon brushes himself off and sets the little mortar beneath the massive shaft. The furnace lowers into place, and once more begins to howl.

Scrutiny

Scrutinize the above. Respond below.

Ziggy's Self-scrutiny

I wrote this trying to get into a Zarth mind. Into a life of that... caliber. That temper. To wield the steel of a searing soul... so to speak.