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The coarse ropes wore harshly at Fumolatro's wrists. Hours of struggling against their hold had served only to gnaw at his skin like hungry fire ants at a fallen beast.
He was bound to the base of iron column that supported a section of an elaborate array of catwalks and scaffolding upon which rested crates and cartons and the engine of a massive crane, the great neck of which swung out over the cavern floor. Attached to the crane by metal cables was a large flat bottomed cage. It appeared to be the only means of reaching the catwalk.
The interior of the cavern was vast, the smooth walls betrayed the history of its formation. For uncounted millennia the ocean had swept through the fissures in the porous rock, and eviscerated the interior. Eventually through other more dramatic geological forces the land mass had been driven up to it's current elevation to the point where the sea was barely level with the cavern floor. Only one connection to the Atlantic remained - the pool into which Fumolatro had fallen and from which he was so ingloriously rescued by his captor, The Silver Talon.
The space was illuminated by torches suspended from the iron frameworks. Stationed around the interior the professor could see sections of roughly constructed flooring, on which stood machinery, tarpaulins, tools, cases, tables and cabinets; an entire workshop's worth of equipment. Many items he recognized immediately, others the purpose of which he could only speculate. What horrible deeds did the man he had once called a friend have planned? For what dark purpose could these devices be destined?
By all evidence, he was alone. The only sound beyond his own stressful breathing was the rhythmic slosh of the ocean as it entered and withdrew from the wide orifice in the cavern floor. In the hours he he'd spent writhing in vain attempts to free himself he seen the sea water retreat completely from sight and slowly rise again. Clearly the daily action of the tides caused the waters to completely vacate the tunnel that connected the cavern to the sea, and then slowly return.
Above him, on the iron scaffold that supported the crane, he spotted a walkway that terminated at another opening on the cavern wall - an exit.
Voices came from the far side of the where a wide arch led out into a darkend passage. Shouting, struggle, the conversants were at odds... seconds later he spotted the all to familiar 'silver talons' that had been horrifically grafted directly to Emil's fingers - they reached out into the air in front of him for balance as he dragged another prisoner behind. The Professor's heart fell. There, battered but conscious, was he dearest friend, the Reverend Oryza.
Like a valueless sack of refuse Reynard dropped the poor cleric on the floor aside a large worktable. He was bound with same rough black ropes that held the professor.
As Reynard moved into the glow of the torchlight, the professor could see that the horrible surgery that had permanently affixed the dreaded talons was not the only unnatural alteration to his body. A framework of iron surrounded his left leg up to his thigh, where it appeared to be attached to an articulated joint and from there bolted straight into his pelvic bone. A sickening feeling ran through the professor's innards. Reynard was limping. Clearly the weight of the frame was great. On his right arm a similar structure was mounted, this though, was partially covered in plates like some horrid metal skin. The hand, if it still was a hand, appeared more as a trap such as would be used to snare wolves. It was this harsh 'claw' he had used to drag the priest through the passage.
Reynard was working at a something. Several small engines were set in motion. The sound of pumps began competing with the noise of the sea. He climbed aboard the cage at the base of the crane and with the thrust of a lever it began to climb - up over the pit of swirling sea water pit and onward up to the scaffold. There he unpacked several crates. He was gathering small items into his metal claw.
"Emil", the professor called out.
Reynard stopped moving. His hunched form breathed in deeply. "EMIL IS DEAD!" he shouted without turning. "'All that he was is gone!"
"Where is Metalica?!" the professor demanded.
Reynard turned staring down at Fumolatro, and with a slight tilt of his head, smiled. "Patagonia... She left more than week ago on the request of an old friend to come visit. Sadly for her, the old friend is at school in Kroenenburgh. Angelus, you look puzzled."
The professor slowly began to realize the extent of the deception. "The woman on The Borealis.... and at the Opera?" He asked.
"Angelus you really are tragically dim" Reynard returned to his work as he continued to speak. "That was my consort, Belladonna Aconite of course. She is quite gifted isn't she?"
Oryza, still on the cave floor, called up. "And you have no idea of the whereabouts of Gunther Wasserstrom do you?"
"Ah the monk shows some wits after all!" Reynard replied snidely as he reentered the cage and descended from the higher level. "Of course not. Do you really think I'd have involved any of you if I already had the old man?"
"I'm not a monk, Emil. I'm a priest of an Institute of Consecrated Life, technically."
The professor, still cringing at the term 'old man' being used for his dear friend and mentor Wasserstrom, spat out the question, 'What is it you want?"
Oryza rolled to his side. Managing to prop himself up on an elbow he looked across the room at the professor, "He wants us to locate him...and the book."
"Bravo! Oh Bravo Padre. But you're only half correct. I want Angelus to find him." Spinning on his metal heel Reynard limped across the room, then after spilling the items he'd collected onto a nearby work bench, heaved the Reverend off the floor and onto a large wooden table, and staring into his eyes said, "I have other plans for 'his holiness' here."
The professor, his mind filling with rage, shouted back, "I will never help you!"
Reynard answered by looking down at Oryza saying, "Oh but will Angelus... or the priest dies."
"No!" screamed Fumolatro, "No! You fiend!"
Seemingly unshaken, the Reverend, unblinking, looked into Reynard's eyes and replied, "I'm willing to die if it will serve God's purpose for me to do so. But may God have mercy on your soul, Emil."
"GOD?" Reynard shrieked, "I AM GOD!! I am the new creator! My own creator! I have torn down the faulty shell of YOUR God and remade my self in a new image! Stronger! Better! A new being! I am the Neo-Homo-Superioris!" Reynard, in his madness, was screaming to unseen masses.
“Now, Angelus…" He shouted as he limped his was across the floor.
The professor’s eyes grew wide as Reynard threw back his cloak to reveal the velvet sheath of a pulwar hanging from his belt. His twisted grin revealed several sharp and shining metal teeth as he withdrew the ancient weapon, its polished blade shimmering in the dull torchlight of the cave, and lowered it dangerously close to the professors throat.
From his vantage point on the table Oryza watched in horror as with one deft move the blade was drawn upward like an executioner’s ax. Sure that Reynard in his madness now intended to kill the professor, the priest braced himself for the gruesome sight that was to follow. Sparks flew as the blade, scraping down the back of the metal column against which the professor was tied, passed straight through the ropes that had bound him. Reynard lifted the blade and examined it, as if admiring its usefulness. “…you will assist me.”
What is this? the professor asked himself. Is he really so mad as to free me AND expect me to assist him somehow?
Using the sword as a pointer, he directed the professor to the table supporting Fr. Oryza. “Bind him!” Reynard commanded.
Fumolatro was horrified to see the filthy wooden table on which his friend lay. It was actually a primitive surgical bed. The sides were fitted with brass rings used for holding the leather restraints required to keep patients immobilized while surgeons made swift work with their blades and saws.
Reynard awkwardly manuvered his way to the Professor’s left side and began to uncoil the upper restraints. The Professor was sickened at the prospect of willingly assisting the monster his former friend had become. As he moved to wrap the first restraint under the Reverend’s calf his hand felt the outline of a long metal object in the hem of the priest’s robe. ‘Allon’s dagger!’ he though to himself. (A flawless weapon forged in Toledo, it had been a gift from the devoted staff of the Cathedral at Salamanca following the Affair of the Spanish Wraith.) His captors had failed to discover it!
With as much stealth as he could manage, the professor obscured his actions as he slipped the blade from the hem the robe. Oryza, sensing the professor’s action cautiously met his eye. Without a word the two conceived a plan and set it in motion.
Knowing he must distract Reynard into a position of vulnerability, Oryza closed his eyes and quietly, but audibly, began to pray: “Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur: tuque, Princeps militiae coelestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen.”
Reynard leaned in slightly, snarling in Oryza’s face. “You waste your breath holy man.”
His eyes opened, and looking Reynard in the face asked: “Do I?”
The professor, with the dagger gripped firmly in hand, was agonized by the act he was about to undertake. He drew in his breath, raised the blade above his head and whispered: “May God forgive me.” Down went the knife into the back of their captor!
A scream! Reynard fell forward dropping his weight upon the poor priest. Another scream as he rose up. Then… laughter. Screeching, twisted, evil laughter.
With an animalian roar and one swing of his massive metal craw Reynard struck the professor square in the chest throwing him back into the cave wall. Like a magician flourishing his cape, Reynard tore off his cloak and ripped the shirt from his chest.
Their blood ran cold at the sight.
Upon his chest and back, no skin shone. Where there should have been flesh and muscle was metal, fused to his body as if melted into wax. On his back, layered sheets of iron and on his chest a gleaming sliver breastplate. How far had this horrid perversion of man into machine progressed?
Seething and spitting with each breath, he retrieved the dagger from the floor. Then grasping it in all that remained of his ‘human’ hand, hoisted it over the Reverend’s chest, he looked down at Fumolatro and whispered…. “My turn.”
(the story continues - here)
All of the ironwork in our hanging racks is produced by hand by local craftsmen. The provide decoration and useful task lighting.
First, it was Old Scrawny Cat mewing in irritation, because I didn't provide a comfy spot next to my computer where he could keep watching me as he slept. (Yes, he watches me in his sleep. He's that needy, the poor old thing.) So I put an old cat bed there. Young Fat Cat found the cat bed and decided it was a nice spot to sleep as well. And so the two cats fought for days over who'd get the bed, until I shoved open a place on my worktable and put up an old cat bed for her too. So, instead of a nice open workspace for my projects, I have cats. Sleeping cats.
boston, massachusetts
january 1971
metalsmith / jewelry maker
meeting house gallery, beacon hill
part of an archival project, featuring the photographs of nick dewolf
© the Nick DeWolf Foundation
Image-use requests are welcome via flickrmail or nickdewolfphotoarchive [at] gmail [dot] com
Im so glad I kept this IKEA corner desk when it was no lnger needed in my daughters room. its been packed away in the loft. Just perfect for sitting at and for my sewing machine.
The Chalon canopy is supplied with extraction and task lighting to suit even the most demanding cook.
For a more fitted look or if space is limited, Chalon produce a range of modular furniture to the same quality specification as its freestanding pieces. However these pieces provide more storage and countertop.
boston, massachusetts
january 1971
metalsmith / jewelry maker
meeting house gallery, beacon hill
part of an archival project, featuring the photographs of nick dewolf
© the Nick DeWolf Foundation
Image-use requests are welcome via flickrmail or nickdewolfphotoarchive [at] gmail [dot] com
This week I made a run down to Oil Trough (a real town) to have my friend Tadpole (a real guy) powder coat my updated workbench, work table, and parts washer dolly.
The small worktable that I bought at auction was fitted with racks for 6 blue storage bins. The blue really complements the red powder coat.
I wonder how long the worktable will stay this clear? Not long, I assure you.
Blogged: Sommer Designs
For a more fitted look or if space is limited, Chalon produce a range of modular furniture to the same quality specification as its freestanding pieces.
I have a new film on Youtube, inspiration for over printing with multiple linoplates, to get fun, colourful prints, this method can be used for all kinds of printing, cards, t-shirts, your imagination is the limit!
here is the link, Happy Watching! :
This is the North wall of my home office before the remodel.
What's Working:
- Wall calendar for quick reference
- Whiteboard for brainstorming
- Large worktable area.
- Really convenient place to set my backpack/laptop bag.
- All battery operated devices are recharged in one location.
What's Not Working:
- The table doesn't match the rest of the office and just seems out of place.
- The files from the new business need to be stored better.
boston, massachusetts
january 1971
metalsmith / jewelry maker
meeting house gallery, beacon hill
part of an archival project, featuring the photographs of nick dewolf
© the Nick DeWolf Foundation
Image-use requests are welcome via flickrmail or nickdewolfphotoarchive [at] gmail [dot] com
After the picture I took last time with all the stacks of handbound books on it I actually cleared my worktable completely. Two books, an art pendant and some origami later the mess is back in it's full glory
Catalog Number: 2015.001.0020
Date (Years): 1891-1900, 1901-1910
Description:
A man is standing next to a worktable and is using woodworking tools. The man, Amos Wilson (A.W.) Judd, is wearing a two-piece suit and white shirt. He has a droopy moustache and wire-rimmed glasses. He is holding a piece of wood in his hand and is working it with a woodworking tool. The worktable is scattered with other woodworking tools and a square frame for a large format camera. The worktable is located directly under a low window that is providing the light in the room. The room looks to be a basement. There is a fire going in a small stove that is vented through an opening in the wall.
Local photographer A. W. (Amos Wilson) Judd works on a wooden large frame camera case at a workbench. Location is unidentified.
This is our homeschool wall. Right now we both use the big dining table as our desks. Eventually we will have a designated homeschool area with a desk and worktable for him. At that time, I plan to double the shelving and add stations for foreign language and stuff.
aspen, colorado
late 1975
inside nick's "mad lab"
part of an archival project, featuring the photographs of nick dewolf
© the Nick DeWolf Foundation
Image-use requests are welcome via flickrmail or nickdewolfphotoarchive [at] gmail [dot] com
Some finishing yet to be done...a fragment of the stack is visible; also can be seen, I think, on the larger picture posted earlier.
Dark colours and contemporary knobs ensure that this design remains clean and sharp but keeps its timeless appeal.
If you are brave enough to choose black, your courage will be rewarded and your furniture remain chic for many years.
Second go at panorama stitching, this time with a tight interior. This is the result of stitching 7 images shot using a wide angle (12mm) lens. Oh my, isn't this a complex scene! I spent two good hours trying to find this compromise. I still have loads to learn... And I guess I could start by reading Arnaud Frich's stuff.
This panorama thing had a least one good side-effect: I took pains to clean my workbench prior shooting. Now look at all this pristine space longing for a good project!
Want to see how bad it is? Go full-size.
We've been making our own holiday cards for over a decade now. A few years ago we were delighted to learn that this was a holiday tradition of my husband's paternal grandparents as well when we inherited their block prints from the early years of their marriage and growing family. It is fun to imagine them hunched over some worktable chiseling away, rolling ink, testing prints, and the happy feeling when it is all done. I just finished up a flurry of Christmas orders, save for a handful of pieces still in progress, and had a moment to work on our holiday papercutting for this year: the treehouse platform in our hemlock and our happy four. Coming soon to mailboxes near and far!
The “INKredible 2″ Pack includes 20 NEW polymer clay patterns sheets designs introducing a variety & mix of materials to use along with alcohol inks.
These sheets can be applied in any bead, jewel, or accessory of your choice – flat or curved, small or large.
I implemented my pattern sheets on earrings & beads.
The materials I used are probably already in your polymer clay toolbox, taken from many of my previous classes –
Alcohol inks, chalk pastels, paints, stazon inks, stencils etc.
This class is a new version of my known previous INKredible class, now offering a celebration of exciting, new techniques, encouraging you to use anything on your worktable, along with alcohol inks.
20 patterns came out of my personal laboratory, but the combinations are infinite!
www.polypediaonlineexpress.com/product/complete-inkredibl...
If you are interested in combining these beads in elaborated, impressive Micro Macrame knotting, you are welcome to check out the new "INKredible Macrame" class -
www.polypediaonlineexpress.com/inkredible2-inkredible-mac...
polymer clay, polymer clay tutorials, polymer clay alcohol inks, micro macrame tutorials, polymer clay how to, how to polymer clay, surface techniques, polymer clay ink