For pure info here is the "backstory".
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Vision and thought returned quickly.
The man straightened up from the battered little figure. His face was
flabby, he was not a soldier. "Looks like you were hit by an arrow."
The warforged regained its feet, mind cluttered, "Eight hundred nine
thousand, and eighty three." The first shot to have struck its eye. It
had been a new sensation. And as was the rule for this warforged the
new sensation had been an unpleasant one.
"Hm?"
The warforged shifted fully upright. Awaiting rebuke.
Time passed. The flabby man's belt, sitting at eye level, revealed no secrets.
Gingerly the warforged raised its eyes. If the flabby man was looking
away would signal that it had been dismissed.
But the eyes were staring down, big and blue. Some sort of response
was required. Rapid, proper response may allow avoidance of rebuke.
"That is the eight hundred nine thousand, eighty third arrow to have
struck this unit."
"You were used for target practice?"
"Affirmative."
"What is your designation?"
"Target"
"Hmph." A pause. "The number you just provided was an estimate of the
number of times you have been hit"
"It is not an estimate, sir."
Time passed. The warforged looked at the belt. It presumed it was
still being observed by those big blue eyes. Being watched was not a
new sensation, but it was a persistently unpleasant one.
"You know how many arrows have hit you… How many were fired?"
"Sixteen million, one hundred and ninty nine thousand, eight hundred
and ninety six, sir."
"Were you told to remember these numbers?"
"No sir." Had it done something wrong?
"Tell me something about the relationship between the numbers."
"I am struck roughly once for every twenty hundred shots sir." The
warforged found itself glancing around the small room. This sort of
conversation was new… Completely new; it was horrified.
"May I return to the range sir?"
"You may not. You've been inactive for a number of years, apparently
since a lucky shot deactivated you. Do you know where you are?"
The warforged looked about, the room was densely packed with all
manner of unfamiliar objects; the open door provided usable
information. "The sign on the door says 'Apparently Useless Objects',
sir."
"Yes, it does. Its my office. You were sent here; so you are my
responsibility for now. And I have better things for you to do than be
shot at."
*************************
Arck D'Canith was an important man. Yes, he was young, and yes, the
house had not yet officially acknowledged his prowess. Since his body
stubbornly refused to develop a dragonmark it would require some time,
but with his superior intellect and breeding it was simply a matter of
time before he rose high within the house. He knew that as surely as
he knew his own name.
The problem was that certain... lesser... orders of creature had
difficulty understanding what the future would hold.
The little runt of a warforged in front of him was shaping up to be an
excellent example.
"I am here to see Relys." It should not have been necessary to explain
this again, but so long as he was unranked he was forced to explain
himself over and over again to imbeciles. The cluttered office was
quite except for the quiet shuffling of paper.
"And you do not have an appointment. So you may wait." The perched
before him behind a cluttered desk the Warforged looked as wide as it
was tall; which wasn't saying much.
"I have been." Even sitting on a high stool its head did not reach
Arck's chest.
"Releys is not available yet." Arck took a deep breath, obviously its
mental capacity was barely advanced from that of its golem forbearers.
"You are hardly in a position to order me about." Lacking any of the
adornments, features or -style- attached even to a 2nd decade model.
As unsightly as anything that walked out of a creation forge.
"I have not forbidden you any course of action." An obvious defect.
Relegated to desk work. It probably had been in the office for years.
"Master." it added. The metal hands never paused in their movement;
paper moved inexorably from one side of the desk to the other.
"Then I will enter." Arck glanced around the room, filled wall to
ceiling with bric-a-brac it was the definition of cramped. To the
right of the tiny desk a massive rune cover arch dominated the room
providing the only exit other than the door he had entered through.
The arch looked impressive, but given its presence in this office
could not have been. Something just interesting enough to be hauled
from wherever it was found, probably picked up by some ideologue with
an interest in ancient cultures or other rubbish.
"As you will." The creature gestured toward the arch. Veined in blue
runes the black stone was not immediately identifiable to Arck.
Probably obsidian. Researched and discovered to be useless in short
order, it had been brought down here to the bottom of the tower to rot
in this insignificant little office.
Arck strode through the arch confidently. Or at least he made a step
in that direction before the blue runes began to glow in an unpleasant
manner.
A simple security measure? Arck pondered the situation. For all his
irrelevance Relys was not without a measure of standing. Due to his
advanced age and nothing else. Surely. A ranked member of importance
would certainly never operate an office with such a pedestrian name as
The Office of Apparently Useless Objects.
He was hardly going to be cowed by some ancient garden ornament. "I am
Arck D'Cannith." The runes continued to glow ominously. "Full blooded
heir of House Cannith," Arck was irritated to hear his voice rising
slightly.
He turned to address the midget warforged. "I command to give you the
code which dispels this gate."
"There is no code. It is keyed. The key is with Master Relys." It
didn't even turn to address him...
"You do not have the right to keep me out. This insignificant little
office has nothing that is barred to me."
"You are more than welcome to pass through the Arch." Its voice
lingered on the last word in a way that made Arck shiver.
He brushed off the feeling and took another step toward the gate. The
runes brightened noticeably. And there was now a deep humming running
through the little office. "If this is not a security measure. WHY is
it in front of his office?"
"As you have noted sir our office is quite insignificant. Its size
reflects this. That is the only place it could be placed in the room."
A quick glance around the packed room certainly supported the little
freak's claim. Realizing this did noting to improve Arc's rapidly
worsening mood.
Arck took another step toward the gate. The runes were now brighter
than the everburning torch hanging over the warforged's desk. The air
inside the arch seemed to shimmer slightly. Arck was sure he was
sweating only because of the heat from the arch. Certainly not because
of nerves.
"It is rarely fatal." "Sir." Jars and vials around the room had taken
to clattering together in sympathy with the godsaweful humming.
"I'll wait." Arck returned to the uncomfortable bench. He would have
sworn that he saw the little misanthrope's faceplate turning up in the
corner of his eye but when he looked over the metal was a featureless
as ever, without even the hint of a smile.
******************************************************************
"I have been to this office a DOZEN times over the last THREE weeks."
Arck D'Cannith was not screaming. He was talking loudly. And with good
cause.
"Yes sir. Yes you have." The creature did not raise its eyes. Papers
continued to flow across the desk from left to right. The quill
swooped and dove like some hairy insect.
"And yet you will not let me through this infernal gate without making
me wait!"
"You do not have an appointment." The little piece of junk was almost
certainly this battered because of beatings doled out over its
insufferable attitude. The quill and papers continued their ceaseless
dance.
"I had an appointment yesterday!"
"That is a day that is not today." From creature's tone of voice you
would think it was talking to itself, or another wretched servant
creature. Serving in this office had given it airs.
"Yesterday, when I came here, the office was closed!"
"Master Relys was on short-term sabbatical."
Arck had no idea who had decided to attempt to create a scout model
warforged with heavy armor plating. Or who had decided to put it in
this office. But he was sure that that anyone who had made any
decision involving this creature that did not involve turning it back
into scrap metal the second it stepped out of the creation forge was
cursed with singularly poor judgment.
"I am HERE - FOR - MY - APPOINTMENT!"
"Which was yesterday. You do not have an appointment now. Or anytime
today. I would be happy to look at master Relys' schedule and see
about scheduling you for next week."
Arck was driven to uncharacteristic violence. He would have been hard
pressed to explain what he was expecting when he reached out to grab
the creatures arm. He expected haul it off of its little stool and
give it a good shaking. Or something. "We made you! You ungrateful
little sub-sentient..."
Arck was certainly not expecting, a hideous snapping sound. He let go
reflexively. But the damage was done.
The creature's arm was twisted at a hideous angle. Ink slowly spread
from quill tip across papers, stubby metal fingers twitched
spasmodically. Arck imagined some tiny metal sea creature had beached
itself upon the desk and was slowly suffocating.
"I... I barely touched you." Arck's voice was unfortunately squeaky.
The creature's other hand scooped up the quill from the spreading pool
of ink on the paper.
"As you say sir." The quill returned to its ink pot.
Arck felt dizzy. The warforged was house property. He had damaged
property of the House Cannith. He swallowed back bile reflexively. The
house of making looked singularly poorly upon damaging house property.
"I have a cousin, Marex, he's marked. He can repair you." Yes, yes,
keeping things quiet would be the best way to handle things. Marex
would come through. He just needed a little bit of time.
"Hardly necessary sir." The warforged brought its arm up and down on
the table with a shockingly loud bang.
When Arck opened his eyes the quill was in hand and papers were
flowing across the desk again.
"Your... joints?"
"The project to combine mithril jointing in an adamantine frame
resulted in extreme side effects. For example: my construction diagram
did not intend for me to be this size." Arck was to startled to
respond to the creature's insolent tone of voice.
"You were not supposed to be a scout model?"
"I was constructed several years before work began on scout models."
The construct's mouth line was squeezed together.
Arck found himself with nothing to say.
"Shall I schedule you for next week sir," the warforged's mouth
floated back to its original, neutral setting.
"That will be acceptable," Arc's voice was not recovered as much as he
would have liked.
As the creature finished noting Arc's new appointment it noted, "I am
precisely as grateful to House Cannith as I should be. Sir."
Arck turning reflexively to leave. It not until he reached the door
did he realize that he felt like he had been dismissed.
*********************************************
Vaber D'Canith was surprised at how little he felt at the sight of
Relys was sitting across from him.
"Better than my ballon idea. Hmm?" the portly man was leaning forward,
smile twisting impishly.
Years of dealing with younglings allowed Vaber face to flow naturally
into a frown, once they had been such rivals, he and Relys. And the
mere sight of that impish grin would have sent the thin man into a
froth. But years had passed since then. Neither of them had amounted
to much as artificers. He was man enough to admit it.
"Yes, well, it would require a singularly terrible idea to trump the
idea of a flying ship held aloft by a bag full of explosive gas." Not
that Vaber would just roll over; Relys had crawled off into his little
hole years ago. Vaber had stayed the course and found a way to
contribute; as a teacher if not a practitioner.
"As opposed to the solution we accepted; which involved the extremely
safe system of shackling hostile extradimensional beings composed of
elemental fire to fragile wooden vessels. Yes, a magnificent
improvement in safety." In his time Vaber had cultivated some of the
finest Artificers in the house.... and he understood that genius
required a certain amount of coddling.
"Both... systems had their merits." Coddling. Years of practice kept
Vabers tone neutral. He wasn't going to miss out. Not going to argue
old arguments. The war was taking so many of their best. Everyone was
needed now. He was man enough to rise above the jabs、he would give
Relys no excuse to crawl back into his cave. Not when he could
contribute.
Relys leaned back. Hands clasped in front of his face, but he was
smiling so hard wrinkles were still visible stretching back to his
ears. Vaber wasn't sure why he was smiling. But it didn't matter. His
eyes drifted downward to the schema in front of him. Office of
Apparently Useless Objects it was labeled. Above that was stamped
Office Use only.
"You liked it?" It was a new schema. Not something that Relys had dug
out of some lost garden ornament. Years of absence from the field or
the singular oddness of its writer left the notation in a much to be
desired state, but there was vision here.
"Yes." He found it hard to say but it was a plain fact. The creative
vision was undeniable.
The only artificer in that tiny little office was Relys. He'd had it
double checked. And Relys was entirely too proud to have faked it.
Anyway Vaber knew about all existing research within the house. Nobody
was working on Homunculi. Post the creation of the warforge it was a
dead field... or it had been. He had thought Relys' family's private
library was wasted down there…
"It needs to be developed. Brushed up. It has serious problems. Even
then viability would be a serious issue." His tone didn't match his
words.
He touched the report. He knew how it began. He'd seen it before. One
idea, one good new vision, could drive others. When Merrix had started
work on the forges no one knew where it would come from.... the
Juggernauts had been incredible but when the actual warforged
appeared...
Another good idea like that could spark a hundred; it could give birth
to a roaring bonfire of creation. Or it could be another dud, another
promising dead end. But with the war as it was there was precious
little time for research, and innovative visions were few.
"But yes," Vaber continued, "it is a good idea." Even Relys' balloon
idea had helped the airship development process. It had taken him
years to admit it, but it was true. He was man enough to admit it.
"So I suppose the person who wrote it would have to be trained
extensively. Get their notation up to snuff." It was a positively
humble attitude. Relys had grown.
Vaber felt the tension draining from his neck as he struggled to keep
his mouth from gaping. Relys was coming back. Finally.
Uncustomary feelings of generosity took hold. "Hold on... the notation
is... unfortunate. But you've been out of practice a while; its quite
understandable. I won't be sticking you in a room full of younglings."
"I didn't write it."
"You... it...", Vaber sputtered. "It says..." He was
sputtering。Sputtering Vaber just like when they were students.
Relys' hands were behind his head. His smile was huge and wolfish.
"Office of Apparently Useless Objects. Yes. It was developed
completely in my office. I'll swear to that. And I expect you'll ask
me to."
Vaber stopped. His mind spun. He had checked. For the last eight years
there had been no personnel movements in or out of the office. Just
Relys in that tiny little room.
The room spun slowly about him. Had it come from outside? An artificer
outside of the house? The paper was modern.
Vaber struggled to retain control, he let his mind try to form a
pattern. It was one of Relys' damn puzzles.
He cast his mind back. Vaber had been in the office last 6 years ago.
Relys 50th birthday. He had ducked in at his wife's insistence. Tiny
room, too many people, undrinkably strong drinks being passed out by
that defective little creature. Appallingly really ill-mannered, no
idea why Relys would keep... would keep…
"You trained that little defect to be an artificer," things were
locking into place. Years in a small room, a devoted little servant, a
weak willed man. The mind boggled.
"You think I came up here to admit to that? I'm rather attached to my head."
"It taught -it-self?" The room stopped spinning. Everything fit.
Nothing made sense yet but Vaber knew what truth sounded like.
"Theory really. No practical skills to speak of. The notational usage
was inspired I thought."
"We don't train warforged."
Relys was laughing. "I can think of several countries who would be
curious about what it is they are hiring when we sell them warforged
artificers."
"That's... different...," Vaber was sputtering again. "They're taken
fresh from the forge. They absorb quickly and then we turn them out.
They do what they're told."
"Fixing, hmm?" Vaber flinched like he had been struck. The word was an
anathema in the house. The House made things. Fixing was the province
of magewrights; the House was a place of creation.
"The warforged training process… its ten years squeezed into a one....
or less.... And it only works right after they leave the forge. That
thing has been down in your office for years."
"And it was inactive for years before that. So I suppose the question
is.... is he worth teaching the old way?"
Vaber looked down at the report. But he realized the matter was already decided.
"I suppose you're going to want me to help you find a new assistant?"
"I could use some more space too; the current offices are a bit cluttered."
"Don't push your luck," though he tried mightily Vaber couldn't
succeed in frowning.
