Cuan Caerwyn
Cuan Caerwyn
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Tall with a lanky, underfed build that’s somewhat camouflaged by his student robes.
Body Features
Disproportionately long-legged. Long, dexterous fingers. Mechanical right arm to the elbow.
Facial Features
Dark hair with messy bangs. Most would describe his neutral expression as "fox-faced."
Identifying Characteristics
A split tongue, a mechanical right arm, a very conspicuous stitched up gash across his throat.
Physical quirks
Back to always smiling. :)
Special abilities
Specializes in maths, metalwork, constructs, and modular spell matrices. Proficient in a frankly ridiculous number of toolkits, including tinker's tools, smith's tools, cartographer's tools, and glassblowing tools.
Apparel & Accessories
His chunky array of belts and pouches have been replaced by streamlined, functional clothing, as his mechanical arm houses the majority of his tools and the cloud of nanite-esque constructs that swarms his person make up the rest.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Born a nameless child among countless others within the Clockwork City of Difraxis, his early life is a half-recalled nightmare of fear and pain at the hands of the Designers — a rare survivor of one of many cruel experiments designed to integrate flesh and magic. He would eventually be rescued by a group of Duneriders following a bloody skirmish at the outskirts of machine territory. Near catatonic and unfit to travel with the Duneriders, they left him in the care of a Hillfolk clan, who gave him the name Cuan. Though he eventually recovered, Cuan was never fully accepted or trusted by his guardians, who feared the taint of the Machine Prince — a fear that was only aggravated by his emerging talent for tinkering and metalwork. When it eventually became clear that his talent was magical in nature, the clan elders saw fit to send word to the magi at Ioth Academy, as much for Cuan’s sake as their own protection.
Gender Identity
Cismale, but only insofar as he hasn't really given it any thought; otherwise profoundly detatched from gender.
Sexuality
Bi with a healthy dose of misanthropy.
Education
CRAFTYear 1: Lost wax casting
ELECTIVESYear 2: Elemental Studies Year 3: Runic Alphabet Year 4: Artifice Year 5: War
Accomplishments & Achievements
Failures & Embarrassments
Only personal ones.
Mental Trauma
Yeah.
Personality Characteristics
Motivation
Believes the completion of the Eschaton Clock to be a mathematical inevitability, so he intends to eventually serve Anachronous and hopes to gain his recognition until the End Times (not that it's anyone's fucking business).
Savvies & Ineptitudes
✔️ Problem solving, design theory, anything related to numbers.
❌ Honest communication, having feelings besides resentment and loathing.
Likes & Dislikes
✔️ Soup, Hilde
❌ Other people, rice, other people who spill rice
Personality Quirks
Suffers from intense arithmomania (also not anyone's business).
Social
Contacts & Relations
Family Ties
None that he knows of — as a child from the Clockwork City, he was taken from his biological parents as soon as he was born and raised in his designated group. He made no familiar connections with his Hillfolk guardians.
Social Aptitude
A loaner by design rather than circumstance, the type who knows a lot of people and whom a lot of people know, but isn’t really close with anyone save for a very select few individuals.
Mannerisms
Always seems a bit distracted, only ever half paying attention to the conversation at hand. Will do almost anything he's asked with little question or hesistation, even if he's privately disparaging the asker (which he probably is). Generally outwardly polite, if somewhat cagey.
Hobbies & Pets
Metallurgy, casting, machining, designing and building constructs and modular spell matrices, solving puzzles and complex math problems.
Speech
Speaks with the serene confidence of someone who knows something you don't.
Wealth & Financial state
No personal finances beyond what he's provided by the academy.
Just a totally normal guy. :)
View Character Profile
Age
16
Birthplace
The Clockwork City of Difraxis
Children
Current Residence
Ioth Academy (Tarselmoor Chapterhouse)
Gender
Male (he/him)
Eyes
?
Hair
Steel gray
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Washed out
Height
6'4"
Weight
Underweight
Current Impressions
Hilde: His first and most important friend. Jealous of her new friends but purposely trying to keep some distance between them this year so they can both grow as people, something he never previously considered important. Slowly coming to terms with the fact that he’s in love with her, even though he still doesn’t fully understand what that means – all he knows is that he’d burn the world down to protect her.
Ned: Firmly in the “tolerated” category of individuals Cuan interacts with. Genuinely respects his skills. Can’t relate to any of his familial hangups and has said so, but is of the opinion that if his parents can’t recognize Ned's very obvious talent and hard work, then they’re both wrong and idiots. Not so subtly amused by how whipped Lex has him.
Lex: Actually likes her. Easy to get along with as they have a similar vibe and living preferences. Appreciates her lack of bullshit and that they can exist calmly in a shared space without actively trying to be friends. Occasionally likes to talk shit with her because some people deserve to have shit talked about them.
8380: Warforged should be doing what they’re programmed to do and this one is clearly broken. Doesn’t really acknowledge them as a person (way to be racist, Cuan).
Eva: She’s there and Hilde likes her, so despite her incessant annoying questions, she exists begrudgingly in the “tolerated” category.
Antioch: A fucking weirdo who keeps trying to get him into a maid outfit for some stupid reason. On the other hand, clearly skilled in spell matrices and was completely unphased by his request to split his tongue, so that’s something.
Athalor: Thinks he’s hot and wants to unalive himself whenever he gets reminded of this (usually by Hilde). Also thinks Athalor is an elitist dickhead and would be happy to see him have a painful accident in the crucible.
Alyx: Still does not understand what the Codex actually does despite multiple people explaining it to him on multiple occasions, and therefore doesn’t have much of an opinion on Alyx except that he’s in charge and therefore Cuan needs to listen to him.
Garnet: Stuck up princess bitch who keeps giving him weird looks in class.
Arianna: Kinda cute but also a vapid idiot.
Everyone else: Hate. :)
(Last updated midway through year 5)
Spell Matrices Exam
Studying
Cuan has apparently developed a bad habit of YOLOing his classes this year and decides to forgo formal studying in favor of building more cubes, which is kind of like studying in the same way that eating nothing but candy is technically nutrition. Does their construction have anything to do with the actual exam material? Who knows. Not really studying Arcana check: 16Exam
As usual, Cuan excels at the arcane elements, but his math-plagued left brain doesn't quite grasp the more nuanced, intuitive creativity of making spell matrices in a less boolean manner. Still, he's able to brute force his way through the exam by virtue of his practical experience in building and modifying matrices by hand literally every day. Arcana check final result: 22 Insight check final result: 13Final Grade: Pass
Numerology Exam
Studying
In which Cuan attempts to ignore walking abacus professor Ralnour during class so he can actually focus on the material. Unfortunately, his arithmomania makes him exceptionally attuned to perceiving her, so despite his best efforts, he spends most of his time hyperfocused on counting and recounting every single bead on her person, nearly breaking his spell matrix cube from the intensity of his compulsive fidgeting. (Anti) Perception check final result: 16Exam
Despite the massive disappointment that Numerology has been thus far, Cuan’s brain is hardwired to pass this course. He rolls up into class without having done any extra studying and blazes though the exam — although he does have to put a bit more thought into the arcane elements over the strictly mathematical ones. Luckily, the more complex artificing he’s been doing in preparation for the Construct Coliseum helps him work through these parts, and he ends up leaving early to grab a drink at the Maid Cafe (turns out he likes green tea lattes). Arcana check final result: 19 Investigation check final result: 24Final Grade: Pass
Fuck this class though.
Memento
When the Codex leadership announced that they were all moving into the same Chapterhouse, Cuan was fine with it. Despite having developed an appreciation for autonomy over the past few years, at the end of the day, being told what to do is still easier. He even managed to find a roommate with relatively little effort — the conversation he had with Lex about it lasted roughly as long as their first one, when he’d asked if she wanted to join the Codex.
But it’s been a while since Cuan has been to a new place. He forgot the part where the sheer amount of everything nearly drives him fucking insane.
(At least he doesn’t have to smile through it anymore.)
It takes him a week to count all of the stairs and library books; he’s still working on the stones in the walls. Thankfully, they moved during the break, so it’s not like he really has anything else to do. Just explore, and count, and try not to run into Hilde too often in the chaos of everyone trying to get settled into their respective spaces.
Easy.
So he’s not sure when or why he starts miscounting things. He notices it first when the number of moves on his spell focus is off. A facet out of position by two rotations. No one has touched it but him, he’s sure — hell, no one besides Lex has even spoken to him at length since they arrived at the Ring.
He fixes it. Forgets about it.
It’s off again a few days later, this time by four.
To be fair, he hasn’t been sleeping much. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he just made a mistake.
(And maybe, maybe there’s been a handful of nights he hasn’t been able to remember. Nights where he’s found himself in a classroom, or at the entrance of the catacombs, or on the rooftop garden, with no recollection of how he got there. Nights where his̴̟͓͂ ̴̢̺̭̯̬̟̿̀̂̽̈́ẗ̸̢͇̅͐͌̈́͘͠h̸̨̯̭̭̗͕͛͌͆̓͝r̵͕̳̙̊̾͘o̷̘͔̩̩̱̝̬̿̋͠ä̷̧̦̼̫̥̲͇́̈́͘͝t̴͚̻̭̝̠̬̄̑́̆̏ ̷͇̆̽̓̎̈́ḩ̶̭̄̎̽͘a̸̢̤̘̝͕̥̋ͅș̶̨̡̀̽̀ ̷̡̧̛̫̞̑̌͑b̸̙̪̳͖̈̂̆̀́́ē̴̲e̴͎̫̱̻͉͉̚͜ñ̸̦̝͚̳̜̌̉͑̀ ̵̛̩͉̣̍͂̏̾ȧ̶͙͕̀̾̚͝c̶̪̪̿͜ͅh̴̬͖̆ͅi̷̛̪͊̽̈́̅͂́ń̵̛̮̀̊͋ģ̴̨̢̲̞́ͅ ̶̢̨̧̛̠̥͖̄â̴̝̳͐̈́̏̓█̸͇͎̒̓d̸͍̠͌̌̚̚͝ ̸͉̠̟̟̌̽̆̑͛̾͝█̴̢̜͎̹̣̝͓̌̊̅̆e̸̯͚̞͑̓̈́̏̉ ̴̛͖͈̹̜͓͂͗͆̀͜c̶̗̝̈́̽͊́̄͝ă̷̘█̸͕͖̼̟͇́́̃͊̇̉̌ ̵̗͈͊͛̈̆̿█̷̙́̅̍̐̓͐ë̸̡̥̖̮̥̟́̇́͌ͅa̸̛̘͚̳̣r̸͍̤̹͇̥͂͝ ̷̫͒͊̾̿́h̷̼̖͆̈́͠█̵̨̗̮̬̙͌͑̈́͑█̶̱̘̑͘ ̵͓̩̖̭̠͛█̵̟͕̺̭̘̒̄̈̉͊̕█̸̯͖̙̳̟̇̍͛̈́́█̷͇͑̈̄͊͑̑͝c̷͓͐͂͂̽e̵̪̐̆͒̌̇̀ ̴̢̞͔̮̮͚̰̈…
█̷̦̩̭̊̒̈́̓̚█̷̢̛̳̻̩̞̻͋̒̌̈́͋█̷̧̗̞͎̿̾͒̿ ̸̘͉̜͕͕̾̉́█̷͍͒̉͝█̴̭̰̙͑̉̿█̸̢̞̯͉͊͆̚█̵̙͖̪̐̐̚█̶͕̜̺̝̯̄̾̈́̃̍̋█̴̥̘́̿̊̀ ̴̛̹̍̊͌█̶̘̓̔̽̋█̵̧͇̠̿̑͒ͅ ̴̛̼͔̬̂ͅ█̷̢̨͉̯͌̋̂ͅ█̸̮͖̔͛█̶̨̜̣̻̑̿̃͊̽█̷̙̹̬͚͂͘█̸͓͖͎͇̦͙̊̈̓̋̐́█̷̦͊̂͑█̷͚͐̂̐́͌͜͜█̴̩̤̠̯͂̿͗͋̚ͅ█̷̺̞̣̩̉̔̾͘͜█̶̨̰̟͆̑͑
█̷̛̙̓̏̾̆█̷̞͔̯̅̔̂̄͠█̸̭͔̫͙̦̗̩͒̅͌̀ ̵̡͓̙͚̌͂̄█̷̠͎̲̮̩̀͂̌͗█̸̨̻̰͍͛̉̄̎█̶̬̓█̴̰̗͉̺̆̈̔̚█̴̼̔̿͆̂͝█̸̩̦͕̄̎̈́͛͑ ̵̨̹̫̫̭͑̓̆̐͌̏̚█̴̧͚̲̼̖̔̓͝█̶̬̌̑̈́̕͝ͅ ̸̢̙̺̔́̋̉͋̾̾█̷͈͍̬͕̿̑͘█̷͚̞̉̎̉̆█̸͕͖͚̬͔͚̃̆̀͘͝█̸̪̱͒̾̎͒̚█̶̢̣͂̽̕█̷̫̪̭̿̊̈́̈́̽̑̕█̸̛̺͚̥͚͑͒̎̐̚̚█̵̙̘͒̈́̔͒̃͐█̷͓͆͊̄͌̚█̴̰̞͎̰̠̏̿́͊̈́͘͝ͅ
█̷͔̤͙̤̖̣͓̭̩͓͆̐͑̂͛̉█̴̫̻͓̞̯̺͙̹̭͚̆́͌͆͋͘͝█̷͎̑͑̈́̀̔̿̄̎̾ ̴̻̺̺̣͎͒͋̃̈́̅̑̂̄͠͝█̴̟̤̫͉͕̓̔̄́̔█̵̜̯͈̭̟͖̘̠̺̒͜█̵͖̥̼͓̥̗̘̺͎͔̭̈́̓̌̂̊̕█̷̡̹̙͑͂̅█̵̛͉̺̳͓͓͂̃͂͑̍͆̈̂͝█̷̨̧̡̥̹̪̦̋͂́̏̅͜͝ ̸̤̭̘͗͠█̷̰̣͆̾͗͝ͅ█̵̟̙̮͈͛̓͋̽̏̆̚͜͝ ̸̺̮̺͖͎̣̌͝█̷̡̨͔̫͎̣̯̲̗̫̀̃͆█̵̡̳͎͇̿̀̓͛̄͐̑͛͘͝█̷̱̦̙̞͖̆̈́̋̄̈̀█̵̪̟͔̻͓̼̜̦͓̱͇̓█̵̨͖̳̞͎͓̝̳̠̼͑̐̍͐̾̂̂͂͊̒ͅ█̷̡̮̃́̊̄̆͑͛͝█̶̨̲̟̥̦̗̎̔̑̉̽͐█̶̛̙̿̚█̸͖̮̻̤̯̖̹͔̿͒̓█̵̡̤̺͓̳̻̤̺̭̔͋
█̵̛̛̤̻̤̟̜̟̪̯̹͈̙͔̥͕̖̪̳̄͐̍̽́͊̔͊̎̍̅̎̀̆̓͐̆͜ͅͅ█̸̧̢̛̘͔̌͆̂̅͑͆̓͆̇̚͝͝█̴̡̭͓̗͓̦̼͉͔̤̺̗̗̝͓͖̣͍̃͌̔͌̆̈́̓͐̇̏͘͘̕͠͠͠ ̵̛̼̬̗̂̿̅͆̑̾̔͐̈͒̆͋̑̓̕̚͜͝█̸̧̹̟̗̤̰͖̼̯͖̖̭͇͍̐̉̿͒█̷̖̘̯̼̭̻̤͍̥̎͗͌̾͜ͅͅ█̶̜̱̈͆́̅̍̇͌̂̽͠͝█̸̙̖̜̱͖̺̞̱̗͔͚̣̳͍̓̃̈́̆̇̓̂̓̽̽͘̚͠█̵̡͇̜̘͔̆͊̒͘█̵̰̈͂̒́̎͋͘ ̴̡̖̮̞̤̭̙̝͎̗̝̭̣̗̗̂̓͊̒̉͌̈́̾̑̓͌́̓̄̓̽͘͘͝͝█̸̥͚̫̬͚̞̱̗͕̖͓͌̓͂̏́̀̎̈̀█̸̧̳̜̞͎̰̘̞̬̱̎̄̌͂͂̿͘͠͝ ̴̡̤͔͙͕͈̹̲̲͓̺͇̟̍̍̌͊͗̿̆̅̌̎̄́̃̈́́͋̚̕̕͝█̷̛̛̳̖͔̼̓̄̿̄͂̊̐̋͜͠͠͝͝█̵̹̖͖͎͈͉̥͖̭̱̣̮̦͚̭̺̀͊͂̎̋̕͜͝█̸̤͌́̏̈́̅̍̃̀̈͘█̶͚͖͖̙̑̐͊̈́̂̅̄́̏͑͊͊͗̀̔̋█̷͇̤͈̬̥̹͆̃͊͊͜͝█̴̧̡̨̜̫̥̥̯̝͉̹̹̹̞̖͋̓̇̇̈́͗͋█̵̨̨̧̖̥̲͍̫̱̠̱̩͖̱̟͊̐̎̇̂̀̐̿̄́́͂̉͌̃̉͝͝ͅ█̵̡̛̻̹͖͊͂̐̇̊̐̽͛͛̿͂͐̃͗͛̓͘͝͝█̸̡͍̫̤͉̖̞̙̰͍̤͓̂̑̌̉̆█̷̰̩̤̹̭̰͚͖̗̍́̇̏̒̇̊͋͗́̇̋͜
█̸̛̣͇̽̇̎͊͗̍̌͒̑̆̀̇█̸̧̧̨̟͇̝̖̪̠̘̩̟̦̗̬̳̙͔̝̼̠̬͉͙̻̫͕̅́̎̃̾̽̀͑͋̃̈́̇̂͑̐̀̓̐̇̽̚̕͝ͅ█̴̧̧̧̛̳̗̲̝͕̮̹̮̘͋̊̿̽͛̃̌̑͘̕̚ͅ ̶̢̨̙̺͕͕̦̞̖̺̥̮͈͍͚͓͍̖̜̙̮͍͈̮̍̈́̽̒͒͜͝͠͠█̶̬̿̄̇̐̉̌͘█̴̧̧̧̨̩̳͉̮̻̼̥̰̫̤͙̝͎̻͕̲̬̗̺͉̤̲̯͍͇̖̫̔̎̓̃̀̇̊͌̽̎̽̊́̾̂̆͊̅̓͝͝ͅ█̷̢̨̢̡̧̡̲̫̝̠͖͚̮͎̭͓̹͇͙̭̹̭̯͎͙̭͔̗̘̬̙͇͉̿̿̉̈́͘͠█̵̥̘̯̫̟͓̯͕͕̦̺͙͉̙̜̦̖̰̘͖͇̱͈͕͙̀́̆̍̔̌̒̐̓̒͆͊͒͂̉̾̏̀̃̚͝͝͠͝͝ͅ█̴̰̫͕̩̜̉̐̂͆̆̊̋͆͗̅̆̚͠ͅ█̷̨̨̡̧̨̤̖͎͙̺͕̬͖̫̮͍̖̺̤͍͖͈̩̮̙̟̖͍͖̥̝̌͋ ̸̨͚̩̳̖̫̳͚͔̟̪̀̉̈̇̔͒̆̽́̀̀͌̈́̓͑̑͆̓̀͂̑̍̓̔͐͛̾̕͝͝█̷̢̛̝̹͍͈͚̩̙̗͍̦͍̫̗̭̗̤͉̲͓̯̟̘̜̫̥͌͊́͌̅͐̀̋̔̋̈́̃̈́͒̆̈́̓̑͗͘̕͝█̶̡̺̱̻̯͈̻͓̼͚͙̱͍̘̀͐͐̂̓̉͒̌̂̏̈́̄̊̄̐̏̃̽̍͒͑̕̚͝͝͝ͅ ̷̦̍̐̓̅̐█̴̛͍̭̥̟͖̓͑́̋̏̀͊͐͌̀̽͊̋̇̚̚█̵͔̱̾̂̓̑̒̿̀͘█̷̟͓̣̤͙̫̫̝̟̠̞̮̣͗̒̎̀̑̀͂̀̕̚█̵̹̎̌̀̚͝█̸̨̨̛̫͍̜̎͗́͛̓͊͊̔̑̍̓̑͒͗͂̏̇͌̒͑̓͆̐̾̋̌̕̚͝͠͝█̷̤̰̳̯̥͓͉̺̦̇̉̾̐̆̓̓̿̔̀͘̕͜█̵̢̨̨̩͕̤͎̼̺̲̳̲̪͉̰̤̲͖̦̫̻̲̩͚͍̤͕͇̖̫͍̲̋̽̌́́̍̊̏̈́̏█̷̡̢̡̖̰̗̯̰͉̗̫̺͔̜̰͍͍̰̖͚̼͖͕̍̿͂́̈́̉̎̓̑̀̔̂͐̈́̂̽̈̚͘͝█̷̧̢̪͇̺͔͕͇̼̙̲̥̩̭͖͓̟̻̞̠̀͊̉̊͗͛̄̇́̒͋̇̓̓͜͜͠͝█̷̢̨̛̺̟̮̈͗̓̔̃̀͊̔́̾́͐̏̕͜ͅ…………)
…But no one has to know about that.
Unknown Quantity
He forgets about the box for a while.
At least, he tries to. The things Hilde said when he asked why she was giving it to him left a bad taste in his mouth, and he doesn’t know why. Of course they were probably going to split up when they moved to the Ring. The odds of them living together, or even having a significant amount of overlapping classes next year are abysmally low — Cuan has done the math.
It shouldn’t bother him. He likes being alone.
(He thought he liked being alone.)
Weeks pass before he can bring himself to look at it again. He finishes his end of year project, clocking in at a solid B, and spends a good few days between classes doing nothing but avoiding his lodgemates in favor of letting his body recover. Who knew working in modular designs might be problematic for his condition.
Cuan lays on his side on his bed, facing the wall, face blank and mind blissfully quiet. He’s skipping dinner and he’s sure he’s going to hear from Hilde about it later, but for now, there’s nothing to think about. Nothing to count.
I won’t be around forever.
The box is sitting at the bottom of the trunk at the foot of his bed, buried underneath his spare toolkits, the chainmail shirt he uses for Arcane Defense, six illicitly obtained books on Infernal runes and design theory, and eleven bolts of cloth that were overflow from Hilde’s experiments.
Cuan turns it over slowly in one hand. It’s beautiful. Even he can recognize that. Waste of effort, but that’s sort of Hilde’s thing.
He runs his calloused fingers along the edges, feeling for a seam. It’s clearly meant to be some sort of puzzle, and the woodwork is immaculate, but Cuan builds puzzle boxes like this in his sleep. He finds the hidden joint immediately, twists, and the layers slide open in opposite directions, like a flower blooming. Inside the center compartment is a tiny, fairy-sized scroll of parchment.
He takes it out. Unrolls it. Reads it. Doesn’t have a word for the pulsing ache that settles in his chest.
When Hilde returns to their dorm later, he pretends to be asleep. He hears her tsk, and the sound of a mug of soup being set down on the shelf.
In the morning, he belatedly thanks her for the box. She smiles tiredly, and he smiles back.
They don’t talk about it again.
The ache doesn’t go away.
End of Year Project
Concept
Cuan has been working on his Steel Defender since third year, and at this point has a fully functional construct. However, the Steel Defender is big and bulky, and he doesn’t want it following him around all the time, so his project is to make it both modular and self-assembling — the advantages being that it could be deployed much more stealthily and into/past spaces that medium sized creatures wouldn’t otherwise be able to access initially, as well as being easier to repair/replicate.Step 1
Strip the construct down to its absolute bare bones components and divide them amongst multiple matrices. May require casting and milling replacement parts for improved efficiency. Backup: If the design as is doesn't work, Cuan might take inspiration for a modular design from swarm class creatures (aka going the nanobot route). Final result: 9 Working with modular parts triggers his arithmomania even worse than the whole Grove river pebble incident. Ends up spiraling into a multi-day bender of developing a different infinite series technique for calculating π, which leads to him scrawling hundreds of thousands of digits of π all over his existing schematics, rendering them useless. This continues for nearly four days. Eventually jolted out of his mania (literally) by Hilde, and immediately passes out, having not eaten, drank, or slept the entire time. Loses several more days to recovery and several weeks playing catchup. This happens more than once.Step 2
Retool the core of the matrix that controls the defender (essentially its brain) with new runes. May require redoing the whole thing from scratch depending on how much adjustment the program needs. Backup: Ask Hilde for help — he may have missed a semicolon somewhere in there... Final result: 21 Runic Alphabets comes in clutch. Recovers a good amount of lost time by making excellent use of his boolean die stamps. Does not have to resort to asking Hilde for help beyond the occasional little shock to keep him focused.Step 3
Combat test the new design in Broxwerth Hall against Hilde and/or Buta. Backup: High possibility that the modular design is too brittle in its initial iteration compared to the standard build. May have to seek advice from a teacher with actual combat experience like Untermauler or Elnao to shore up weaknesses. Final result: 2o Initial testing reveals that the new Steel Defender performs decently, but is indeed brittle compared to the original build. Ends up going to Elnao over Untermauler (does not feel like being vibe checked by a 400 lb minotaur). Advised to make up the lack of armor with the ability to close distances faster, leading to better subsequent tests.Final Grade: B
Probably not good enough to maintain his Codex rank of Academic, but it's not like Cuan knew what that meant in the first place.
Faerie Fire
There’s a girl named Hildegard who lives at the Grove with him. A fairy. Weirdly tall, or so he’s been told. Cuan doesn’t know much about fairies, and as someone who’d already been pushing six feet by their second year, he can’t really attest to the impressiveness of anyone else’s height.
But she’s an artificer, like him. Smart. Technical. Annoyingly chaotic workflow. Has a strange obsession with stealing and melting down all the toilet paper holders and cutlery, despite the fact that they can just ask for raw materials. They’ve helped each other with homework and projects, and she made him a pair of wrist guards that he uses for his stupid martial weapons training.
Once, she tries to collect his name — another fairy thing, apparently — and he gives it to her with a smile. Cuan Caerwyn is a name, but it’s not his real name, so he’s fine with letting her hold onto it.
Once, he tries to count her freckles — not compulsively, just out of curiosity — but she notices, somehow, and looks away. Tells him that he doesn’t have to smile around her. Says it’s a waste of energy.
Cuan isn’t sure what to make of that. His smiling has nothing to do with her and he tells her so.
But the next time he’s helping her pour molten metal for fasteners, in a clearing far away from the dorms and the caretakers and the other students so that the smoke won’t bother anyone, he feels his mouth relax a little.
They tag along with Ned for some secret midnight meeting in the Great Hall, and almost get caught by a caretaker along the way. Cuan briefly considers shoving Ned down the massive staircase connecting the two lodges as a distraction, but doesn’t — Hilde seems to like Ned, for whatever reason, and Cuan has to admit that despite the whole pathetic wizard cosplay thing, Ned being a somewhat decent artificer puts him further down the list of people Cuan would like to see given to the Designers for parts. In the end, no one gets thrown down the stairs, and the meeting turns out to be an inauguration ceremony for a cult. Or, “academic society,” according to Alyxander, one of said cult’s leaders. Cuan remembers him, vaguely; he was one of the four people who were transferred out of the Grove during their first year. The others are here too, the two rich kids and the vapid gardener girl who left later. Even after a dramatic speech and some thaumaturgic flexing, Cuan is still unclear on what the purpose of the cult is besides getting Alyx a date for the Gala. Granted, he isn’t really paying attention — for some reason there are biscuits at this secret cult meeting, and people are dropping poppy seeds all over the floor. Cuan, still smiling, grips his spell focus with white knuckles and decides he hates it here. But Hilde thinks it’s a good opportunity to meet people and make connections or whatever, and if she joins then he’ll join. It’d be a bad look if he were to somehow fall behind the other artificers, assuming this really does turn out to be some sort of elite society. Best of the best, or whatever they keep trying to get everyone to repeat. Besides, Hilde is the only one left in the Grove who’s willing to help him test his construct after that incident in Broxwerth, so he doesn’t have much choice but to follow her. So Cuan smiles politely and submits himself to what he assumes is the completely arbitrary judgement of the so-called Scholars. He demonstrates his spell amplification matrix and ends up with the rank of Academic, whatever that means. Apparently it was covered in the speech. (Ned informs him later, somewhat dejectedly, that it’s a good thing, before mumbling something about needing to have a word with Kraius because there’s clearly been a misunderstanding, his grades have been excellent, okay, well, maybe not in Metaphysical Fitness, but definitely in everything else, and then Cuan stops listening.)
Four days later, he finds out that he also apparently missed the part where their first order of official cult business is to attend the Green Gala. If Cuan’s smile happens to falter a bit during Artifice, no one notices — perks of always sitting at the back of the class. He’d been considering faking sick to get out of going, a reasonable excuse considering his track record of catching colds from the bathing river. The living situation at the Grove is already exhausting, and the prospect of sharing oxygen with roughly quadruple that amount of people is not his idea of a good time. Besides, how the fuck is he supposed to get a date at this point? He looks up from die stamping the core of yet another matrix, over to where Hilde is working away furiously at her loom. The bags under her eyes are even darker than usual, and her hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in a while. He starts dismantling the matrix to see if he can harvest enough copper to make an ingot.
Cuan never developed a sense of fashion beyond the utilitarian clothes he was given as a child. Even here at the Academy, with access to seemingly every type of fabric in the Four Kingdoms, he wears the same sort of loose linen tunic, durable straight legged pants, and flat soled leather boots that served him in the Clockwork City. (Well, he does like the red more than the grey.) He lets Hilde choose his outfit. Make his outfit, rather, like she’s doing for dozens in their lodge. When she askes him for ideas, he just shrugs and smiles, completely unhelpful, and then stands obediently still while she flits around, frantically taking his measurements and muttering about needing more thread for his stupidly long legs. On the night of the Gala, she dresses him in plain black slacks and dress shoes, some sort of lace up corset-type thing that forces him to stand up straight, making him look even taller and skinnier than usual, and a shirt with a similar fit to his normal one, albeit with slightly longer sleeves and deeper neckline. It’s made from green silk, with a subtle, tessellated pattern that looks like cubes when viewed a certain way. (If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was making fun of him.) His only accessory is a ring with a spinning center band, crafted from the same copper he’d gifted when he asked her to the Gala — something about not wanting to burden him with a favor. More fairy things. It doesn’t have the same satisfying, rhythmic click as his spell focus, but it’s not bad. Maybe he’ll keep it on even after the Gala. The whole thing is painfully simple compared to most of the outfits she’d been commissioned to do, but Cuan gets the sense it has less to do with the time constraint and more to do with how Hilde is… weirdly conscientious of his preferences. Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering why she seems to care if he’s comfortable, or if things trigger his arithmomania, or whether he actually learns how to fight with a short sword. He almost asks, but doesn’t. Maybe someday, when he understands her motives a bit better. Instead, he tells her it’s fine if she wants to shrink down and cling to his collar, and he’ll walk them both to the Gala. After all, she doesn’t have any shoes on.
There’s a girl named Hildegard who lives at the Grove with him. She has 192 freckles on her cheeks, and he doesn’t hate her.
They tag along with Ned for some secret midnight meeting in the Great Hall, and almost get caught by a caretaker along the way. Cuan briefly considers shoving Ned down the massive staircase connecting the two lodges as a distraction, but doesn’t — Hilde seems to like Ned, for whatever reason, and Cuan has to admit that despite the whole pathetic wizard cosplay thing, Ned being a somewhat decent artificer puts him further down the list of people Cuan would like to see given to the Designers for parts. In the end, no one gets thrown down the stairs, and the meeting turns out to be an inauguration ceremony for a cult. Or, “academic society,” according to Alyxander, one of said cult’s leaders. Cuan remembers him, vaguely; he was one of the four people who were transferred out of the Grove during their first year. The others are here too, the two rich kids and the vapid gardener girl who left later. Even after a dramatic speech and some thaumaturgic flexing, Cuan is still unclear on what the purpose of the cult is besides getting Alyx a date for the Gala. Granted, he isn’t really paying attention — for some reason there are biscuits at this secret cult meeting, and people are dropping poppy seeds all over the floor. Cuan, still smiling, grips his spell focus with white knuckles and decides he hates it here. But Hilde thinks it’s a good opportunity to meet people and make connections or whatever, and if she joins then he’ll join. It’d be a bad look if he were to somehow fall behind the other artificers, assuming this really does turn out to be some sort of elite society. Best of the best, or whatever they keep trying to get everyone to repeat. Besides, Hilde is the only one left in the Grove who’s willing to help him test his construct after that incident in Broxwerth, so he doesn’t have much choice but to follow her. So Cuan smiles politely and submits himself to what he assumes is the completely arbitrary judgement of the so-called Scholars. He demonstrates his spell amplification matrix and ends up with the rank of Academic, whatever that means. Apparently it was covered in the speech. (Ned informs him later, somewhat dejectedly, that it’s a good thing, before mumbling something about needing to have a word with Kraius because there’s clearly been a misunderstanding, his grades have been excellent, okay, well, maybe not in Metaphysical Fitness, but definitely in everything else, and then Cuan stops listening.)
Four days later, he finds out that he also apparently missed the part where their first order of official cult business is to attend the Green Gala. If Cuan’s smile happens to falter a bit during Artifice, no one notices — perks of always sitting at the back of the class. He’d been considering faking sick to get out of going, a reasonable excuse considering his track record of catching colds from the bathing river. The living situation at the Grove is already exhausting, and the prospect of sharing oxygen with roughly quadruple that amount of people is not his idea of a good time. Besides, how the fuck is he supposed to get a date at this point? He looks up from die stamping the core of yet another matrix, over to where Hilde is working away furiously at her loom. The bags under her eyes are even darker than usual, and her hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in a while. He starts dismantling the matrix to see if he can harvest enough copper to make an ingot.
Cuan never developed a sense of fashion beyond the utilitarian clothes he was given as a child. Even here at the Academy, with access to seemingly every type of fabric in the Four Kingdoms, he wears the same sort of loose linen tunic, durable straight legged pants, and flat soled leather boots that served him in the Clockwork City. (Well, he does like the red more than the grey.) He lets Hilde choose his outfit. Make his outfit, rather, like she’s doing for dozens in their lodge. When she askes him for ideas, he just shrugs and smiles, completely unhelpful, and then stands obediently still while she flits around, frantically taking his measurements and muttering about needing more thread for his stupidly long legs. On the night of the Gala, she dresses him in plain black slacks and dress shoes, some sort of lace up corset-type thing that forces him to stand up straight, making him look even taller and skinnier than usual, and a shirt with a similar fit to his normal one, albeit with slightly longer sleeves and deeper neckline. It’s made from green silk, with a subtle, tessellated pattern that looks like cubes when viewed a certain way. (If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was making fun of him.) His only accessory is a ring with a spinning center band, crafted from the same copper he’d gifted when he asked her to the Gala — something about not wanting to burden him with a favor. More fairy things. It doesn’t have the same satisfying, rhythmic click as his spell focus, but it’s not bad. Maybe he’ll keep it on even after the Gala. The whole thing is painfully simple compared to most of the outfits she’d been commissioned to do, but Cuan gets the sense it has less to do with the time constraint and more to do with how Hilde is… weirdly conscientious of his preferences. Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering why she seems to care if he’s comfortable, or if things trigger his arithmomania, or whether he actually learns how to fight with a short sword. He almost asks, but doesn’t. Maybe someday, when he understands her motives a bit better. Instead, he tells her it’s fine if she wants to shrink down and cling to his collar, and he’ll walk them both to the Gala. After all, she doesn’t have any shoes on.
There’s a girl named Hildegard who lives at the Grove with him. She has 192 freckles on her cheeks, and he doesn’t hate her.
Compulsion
Cuan Caerwyn counts things.
He doesn't particularly like counting things, but he’s very good at it. Good at numbers, good at math. Fast. Accurate. Remembers everything he calculates, everything he counts.
He's good at it because he does it all the time — almost every waking moment, and a lot of the non-waking ones. He can do other things at the same time, thankfully, can do it while holding a conversation, but he has to do it.
There's a word for it: arithmomania. He learned it shortly after arriving at the academy. It’s a disorder, apparently. A compulsion.
Cuan likes that word, “compulsion.” It sounds a lot nicer than “Infernal corruption.”
They assigned him to the Grove because they thought, as someone who grew up in the Clockwork City, that all the nature would be good for him. Breathe fresh air. Touch some grass. Bathe in a river.
He caught a cold within the first week, standing chest deep in the water for hours, counting the river pebbles. He got to 30,881 before Sanipkur finally forced him to get out. He wanted to kill her, but he didn’t, obviously. He just smiled.
Cuan learned a long time ago that people who aren’t from the Clockwork City like it better when you smile. They like you better. They treat you better. Or at least, they don’t treat you quite as badly. So he smiles whenever he’s around people, no matter what. Smiles and keeps counting.
Not everything triggers his arithmomania, but a lot of things do. Steps on a staircase. Books on a shelf. A lot of foods — legumes. The circumference of fruit. Rice. Gods, he hates rice.
(Soup is good. Cuan likes soup. There’s only ever one of soup, so he can eat and get on with his fucking day.)
Some things are inconsistent though. It became far more conspicuous after he came to the academy — how, for example, sometimes he’ll meet someone with freckles on their cheeks and then has to keep making small talk for an agonizingly long time because of it, like with that stupid Dragon Tribe girl who was convinced afterwards that he had a crush on her or something.
Other times, he sees freckles and feels nothing. Sometimes he counts them anyway, out of habit, but he’s not compelled to. He can focus on other, more important things.
It took him a while to figure out why that was. What the pattern was. Why this and not that. Why now and not before.
He found the answer towards the end of the first year, while working on his capstone project — a lost wax casting, using an alloy consisting of 89% copper, 5% aluminium, 5% zinc, and 1% tin. The resulting color of the 2x2 inch cube was a match for that of real gold, despite not containing any, and Cuan polished each face to a perfect, mirror finish. The whole thing was an exercise in precision, as all artifice should be.
It was during the polishing phase (216 passes on each face, because 216 is six cubed, of course). The realization was sudden — sudden and so very, very satisfying — like finding the missing quantum in an equation that breaks the whole thing open.
The things he’s compelled to count are the things Anachronous would find useful.
In retrospect, the answer was obvious. The logic, intransigent like the Machine Prince himself.
Because one day, Anachronous will complete the Eschaton Clock and this world will end. Cuan knows this, just like he knows that two comes after one. Like he knows that there are 6,801,123 pebbles in the Grove’s bathing river.
It's an inexorable sequence of events. A mathematical inevitability.
So he doesn’t question it anymore. He just counts. Just calculates. Just obeys, and whatever the Machine Prince chooses to do with the information is his business and his alone, ineffable to someone like Cuan.
But he’ll be ready. When the time comes, he’ll be useful. Maybe even have value.
Cuan doesn’t smile in private, but the corners of his mouth turn ever so slightly at the thought.
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