A staff of age-darkened wood, carved from end to end and all around it with tiny writing.
Of work.
Of whittling.
Of boney hands.
Burdened with a century and more of calluses.
From curious craft and chipper eyes as an apprentice
Turned callous carving and tired mind of a beaten novice.
Returned, emboldened, as a careful, competent, intermediate.
Growing, excelling, entering the field of an expert magi.
His gathered knowledge branching like the tree his Rowan wood staff was hewn from. Riddled with twisting thoughts, queerly knotted questions. Questions that ask the world how it works, why it works, what else will it allow him to discover!
Wizened age arguing with learned principals, the basics, the bogging, bog standard theorem. Wondering what more is there. What unkowns hide amongst the known of the Arcane and Mystical.
Where else to wander, what else to expand upon, what to hone and perfect, for he now knows not all that is known is all there is, in our multiplying, infinite cosmos.
The work space sits cluttered, kindling and scraps of wood, feathered and curled, clumsily fill up the journeymans crafting table.
He draws his hammer and chisel, knife no longer required after years of strenuous slashing. The obsidian and silver blade, crafted also by his experienced hands, sits ostentatiously above. Mounted, a constant reminder of how far he's come.
Metal to wood, mallet to metal, he make the first indentation, careful, slow, precise. A process he earned in his years.
Hours. This is only the beginning.
Days. The shape of his vision begins to manifest.
Weeks. The pattern swirls and twirls and mesmerizes.
Months. Now half way there. Hardly a task as runes glow with every tap and shimmering sigils dimly pulse after every additional, detailed dent is delicately inscribed.
Years. And it is finally done. Silvery grey hair grown, dull by comparison of the platinum bright energy that thrums within his staff. His soul, his tool to the cosmos, the master magis' masterpiece of aged Rowan.
He wields it with pride, with unfathomable dexterity.
With excitement and vigor, he slices open a path to the astral sea. Brilliant white illuminating his body and the inside of his tower.
He smiles and strides, leaving to seek his knowledge, nestled somewhere beyond the opalescent sunrise of that never-ending horizon.
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