The Durants (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
votivescholars) wrote2016-03-11 04:27 pm
votivescholars) wrote2016-03-11 04:27 pm
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March Writing Prompt: Spring Cleaning
Once a year, despite all reservations and inclinations towards intense privacy, the Archon was forced to open his workshop doors and allow the servants to clean it. This was a tradition he couldn't avoid. It was one enforced by religion and natural magic. Spring required fresh beginnings, renewal and revival. To deny it was to risk stagnating his work. Unfortunately it also meant time wasted hiding sensitive documents and enchanting locks that didn't permanently damage any of the servants.
All the cleaners had learned early on to dread this day as much as the Archon loathed it. In the first few years a number of 'incidents' had occurred until the scholar and the servants had reached a middle ground. That might have made the task more bearable but for the things they saw. It was never anything obvious or gruesome, of course. It was never anything brutish. What had once been a large room filled with bookcases, desks and tables had gradually become populated with stone artefacts that thrummed with power, daring passers-by to touch them. Iron, silver and obsidian implements were neatly stored away as if they were there merely as a curiosity, though the lack of dust on them indicated rather regular use. All of this had simply left the cleaners uneasy and eager to move on. One imposing addition soon made being in the room a near nauseating prospect. The chair had made even the most wizened servant hesitate. It was one of those heavy, bulky chairs that strapped down criminals for electrocution. Centred at the back of the room like a throne.
That has been the year the Archon's fearsome reputation had been subtly revived. Quietly. By 'insignificant' people, easily scared or influenced. That's what the other Durants had said, laughing dismissively, as they repeated old stories and ignored the new.
All the cleaners had learned early on to dread this day as much as the Archon loathed it. In the first few years a number of 'incidents' had occurred until the scholar and the servants had reached a middle ground. That might have made the task more bearable but for the things they saw. It was never anything obvious or gruesome, of course. It was never anything brutish. What had once been a large room filled with bookcases, desks and tables had gradually become populated with stone artefacts that thrummed with power, daring passers-by to touch them. Iron, silver and obsidian implements were neatly stored away as if they were there merely as a curiosity, though the lack of dust on them indicated rather regular use. All of this had simply left the cleaners uneasy and eager to move on. One imposing addition soon made being in the room a near nauseating prospect. The chair had made even the most wizened servant hesitate. It was one of those heavy, bulky chairs that strapped down criminals for electrocution. Centred at the back of the room like a throne.
That has been the year the Archon's fearsome reputation had been subtly revived. Quietly. By 'insignificant' people, easily scared or influenced. That's what the other Durants had said, laughing dismissively, as they repeated old stories and ignored the new.