Collab fic between myself and @laetitialaetitii! How It’s Made: General Gregorovic.
At first glance, the workshop might’ve belonged to any crafter, carpenter, or artist.
A desk, papers with sketches, schematics, and notes carefully arranged in small piles.
A set of bookshelves, some empty, others with carefully organized artifacts and bits of machinery, and yet others, stacked with crumbling tomes and crisp notebooks alike, being used for their optimal purpose.
A lathe in one corner, wood curls swept into a neat little pile at one end.
A carpenter’s bench, an island across from the lathe, upon which sat wooden and metal parts that, although meticulously laid out and organized, suggested no particular form yet.
A table kept immaculately clean, upon which jeweler’s tools sat.
On second glance, however, the crafter, carpenter, and artist in question was hardly ordinary.
A rack of surgical tools, gleaming in the low glow of the sturdy, practical Dorgeshuun heat lamp hanging over the fish tank on the second bench nearby.
A bell jar, contents concealed by moisture and mist.
A wall covered in esoteric diagrams written in Teregardian, painstakingly translated into Infernal.
A rack of labelled and draped cages, within which corncob and cotton bedding shuffled underneath tiny clawed feet. An occasional squeaking was the only thing that suggested their contents to the unaware.
Footsteps echoed in the darkness, drawing closer to the intricate, knobless, and lockless door across from the lathe. They stopped just shy of it and, though no keys jingled, something within the door clanked and shifted before it swung open on well-oiled hinges.
As it opened, there was a gust of cool air and the smell of dank cellars, out of place in the neat little workshop. When the door closed again with a barely audible click, the room was no longer empty.
His normal attire of opulent silks had been traded out for a set of, less aesthetically-pleasing yet far more sturdy, workrobes, over which a thick apron was tied. A pair of rubber gloves protected his hands - as he ran his fingers over each other habitually, the material squeaked and squelched, forcing his hands to his sides lest he have to endure that annoying sound any longer.
Sighing, he took in the state of the room and prepared to work.
So many things to do.
Also a ty to @zorialdiamond-blog for motivation/ping-ponging ideas back and forth with me for some of my parts of this fic.
