Zebulon's New Staff

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*Somewhere in one of the many thousands of places where the Elemental Planes collide and churn*

*A brush dipped into paints. A blue. A purple. As the hairs break the surface of the paints, arcane sigils float upwards from the pigments, dissipating on the ceiling of the cave. Zebulon's mane of hair is pulled back from his face, held away from his eyes by a folded length of green cloth. He runs the brush over his face in deliberate strokes, painting concentric arcs and vertical lines around his eyes. As he lays the brush down again, the paint rearranges itself, shaping into arcane sigils. His irises glow, their green like two great searchlights in the cave's dimness.*

*He plunges his hand into the wall of the cave, the solid earth giving way like mud. The stone molds itself, shaping into a smooth, mouth-like hole in the wall. As he removes his hand, heat begins to radiate up from the floor of this alcove, transforming it into something like an oven, or a forge.*

*Zebulon lifts three long branches from the ground. They shimmer with specks of metallic grain in their bark. He bundles them together, winding twigs that bend like wire to each other, and maneuvers the branches into the mouth of the furnace. As he watches, they begin to glow red-hot.*

*He steps away from the furnace, satisfied with its state. Examining the walls of the cavern, he scans for clumps of gemstones. He breaks off a diamond, garnet, amber, jet. He reaches down for a chunk of oxidizing copper ore, and from a pocket, he draws a pearl, within a hair of perfectly spherical. As the Ironwood branches in the furnace continue to heat up, to glow, the metal slivers of leaves falling and sizzling into puddles of silver, gold, copper, Zebulon sits down and begins to shape the gemstones.*

*He lifts the diamond, and lets it hang in midair. With a flick of the wrist, he sends it spinning. Faster and faster it goes, until it is an indistinguishable spinning ball of flashing, translucent carbon. Unless, of course, you happen to have just enchanted yourself with the Sigils of Sight. Zebulon can see it spinning, see every micro-flash of light it refracts against the walls of the cave, see exactly where the center of the stone is. He draws a chisel made of adamant, and begins the work, holding it to the revolving stone, letting it grind down to a perfect sphere. He repeats the process with the other gemstones, except for the pearl.*

*With five orbs of stony material, Zebulon lifts the copper ore and walks back to the furnace. The wood within has begun to crack and expand, burning, charring carbon puffing out from the three branches like burnt marshmallow. He levitates the copper within the forge until it glows, and then reshapes the ore into a cracked orb. He places the orb, still burning within, next to the other five. With bated breath, he waits. Listening, feeling, watching.*

*The six orbs begin to levitate, completely of their own accord. All six glow with a faint light, each its own color, representing the six Elemental Planes. Earth, Air, Wood, Fire, Water, Metal. Zebulon laughs aloud.*

"Yes!" *he shouts, echoing in the cave.* *He sweeps his hand under the floating orbs, and they encircle it, shifting, moving, forming a bracelet that orbits his wrist. He moves back to the forge. The Ironwood branches have nearly tripled in size, encrusted with burning bark. Zebulon strikes a wide stance, and with a word, the charred exterior of the branches falls away like dust, leaving glowing steel beneath. He compresses it, merging the three into one rod with his mind, shaping it into a staff with a flared base and elegantly split top.*

*Levitating the formed staff from the forge, he calls into the earth, drawing forth a basin that fills itself with oil. And now for the riskiest part. Zebulon quenches the staff in oil, immersing its entirety. The cave fills with hissing smog. As the oil quiets, Zebulon draws the staff forth. Cooling it with a word, he reaches out and grasps the implement. It handles well. The steel is light, befitting its Ironwood origin, and at an observation through his Sigil of Sight, the staff is perfectly straight. He draws his dagger, and strikes the staff with the flat of its blade. A clear, resonant steel ring. He breathes a sigh of relief.*

*He wraps the staff in a leather grip, and then holds his hand over the top. The six gemstones slide off his hand like beads of water, falling into the split top of the staff. Hovering. Shifting. And orbiting. An arc of electricity radiates out from the staff's top, through the orbiting stones, and dissipates. Zebulon feels it. He is now attuned to his new implement.*

*Leaving the mouth of the cave, Zebulon stands, looking out into the sea and sky beneath him in the Elemental Churn. He inhales deeply, lifting the staff. He strikes the pommel on the ground, and it resonates like a tuning fork, but not in the sense of something sending a ripple through the air, but through the Weave itself.*

"I name you," *Zebulon says aloud*. "You are Matter's Steward." *Again, he thumps the staff, letting it ring clearly through this nexus of Elemental power.*"My second Item of Power of two crafted through purely elemental magic." *For a moment, Zebulon stands, surveying the skyscape.* "It's been too long since I saw the Blooming Fortress. And three days since I've had a cup of tea. I think I will go home now." *For a moment, Zebulon appears tired, almost leaning on his staff. And then he straightens himself, and begins to scale the hill behind him, looking for a nice place to put a portal.*