Iskra
this heartwood was cut too damn deep
Iskra's woodcutting has led to the inevitable woodworking with what scraps or oddities he has on hand, whittling in his spare time and making trinkets or home items. This naturally led to his interest in the Gilded Market, and recluse as he is prone to be at times, this busy guild hall is perfectly suited to everyone ignoring each other. So long as you can block out the noise of everyone else at work and the tinkering of various tools, most people leave each other to get lost in their work. There are a few chatty cathys who like to peek uncomfortably over shoulders, lavish praise in return for some being handed to them, and general know-it-alls who've taken it upon themselves to tell others how to make something. Generally some gruff responses, or ignoring them entirely, does the trick though, and there is a wealth of knowledge to be had here.
So it is that Iskra's found himself drawn here time and time again between lumber deliveries or travel in and out of Halo, happy to invent and create at his station. He'd headed here early after receiving Deimos' request, doing his best to stock up on what he expected might be needed and to try and finish off his present work to clear his counter for the region's task. Goose is dozing at his feet, long since bored of the work, and only peeps an eye open at the approach of the sword. He gives one lazy tail thump before descending back to dreams, not enough to alert Iskra, who's bent over a small, toy-version of the Firecracker.
Absorbed in his work, he's lost track of time and his surroundings. It's only when Deimos' parchment is set down in his field of view does Iskra startle back into reality, visibly jumping back in his chair, his name lost on the shield of his concentration. The spook is brief and quickly absorbed by a smile and a laugh at himself, shaking his head as he pushes up some magnifying glasses. "Oh, Deimos, there you are," he greets, pushing aside his current craft. He glances down from the Warden to the paper, reaching out to read it, nodding thoughtfully at the listed item. "Yes, yes, I was reading up on this earlier today. I wasn't familiar with it before now, but it's quite pretty."
He reaches for a pea-sized version of it, having tested it earlier, and holds it out for Deimos to inspect. "Actually, could you make a bunch of sand? This requires a lot of it, since you extract silica from the sand, and we don't have enough in reserves here." With no earth magic to speak of, Iskra hasn't been able to easily gather more.
So it is that Iskra's found himself drawn here time and time again between lumber deliveries or travel in and out of Halo, happy to invent and create at his station. He'd headed here early after receiving Deimos' request, doing his best to stock up on what he expected might be needed and to try and finish off his present work to clear his counter for the region's task. Goose is dozing at his feet, long since bored of the work, and only peeps an eye open at the approach of the sword. He gives one lazy tail thump before descending back to dreams, not enough to alert Iskra, who's bent over a small, toy-version of the Firecracker.
Absorbed in his work, he's lost track of time and his surroundings. It's only when Deimos' parchment is set down in his field of view does Iskra startle back into reality, visibly jumping back in his chair, his name lost on the shield of his concentration. The spook is brief and quickly absorbed by a smile and a laugh at himself, shaking his head as he pushes up some magnifying glasses. "Oh, Deimos, there you are," he greets, pushing aside his current craft. He glances down from the Warden to the paper, reaching out to read it, nodding thoughtfully at the listed item. "Yes, yes, I was reading up on this earlier today. I wasn't familiar with it before now, but it's quite pretty."
He reaches for a pea-sized version of it, having tested it earlier, and holds it out for Deimos to inspect. "Actually, could you make a bunch of sand? This requires a lot of it, since you extract silica from the sand, and we don't have enough in reserves here." With no earth magic to speak of, Iskra hasn't been able to easily gather more.
I can't see the wood for the trees
