Just a lump of clay, eh?

By: Lianca Posted on: July 08, 2011

The frigid winds of a Mayan morn gust through the quaint village, rattling the
paned windows of a small schoolhouse. From inside, a welcoming glow pushes back
the season's glum and shadow as an old dwarf teacher prepares the day's lesson.
Torauk's once muscular arms reach into a wide closet and withdraw a large,
rectangular object. His work-worn hands bearing the stains of his new
profession, each dark smudge of ink overtaking the scars from the labour of his
youth.

With a cryptic expression, Torauk turns from the cupboard to face the young
class, each eager face filled with promise as they look up to him. Placing an
unassuming box upon his desk, he gestures to the class to draw their attention.

"Now listen here you lot, you best be paying mind to what I'm saying. Today
you'll each be taking an item from this box."

Pointing to the box on the desk, Torauk continues.

"Whatever you get, that's what you get and I want you to make something with
it."

One by one the children line up and reach into the box, withdrawing items at
random. A thoughtful xorani child takes a quill and ink; another picks out a
bolt of cloth and a needle. One well-muscled troll boy receives a piece of soft
iron, which he studies with a puzzled look as he returns to his seat. Finally
the last child, an atavian boy named Fritz strolls up to the desk and finds just
a lump of clay left.

Now, young Fritz may not be blessed with timely speed but he has a voice and
isn't afraid to use it.

"Mister Torauk, sir. All I got was this useless clod of mud. Can I have
something better, something useful?" He pleads to the almost incredulous
teacher.

The old dwarf tilts his head his blue eyes regarding young Fritz with a touch of
sadness. The look fades quickly as he gives his beard a firm tug, his expression
now one of determination, determination to teach the lad what even a simple
piece of clay can do. He comes around from his desk and guides Fritz back to his
seat.

"Useless, you're telling me? It's something useful you're wanting?"

Torauk takes the clay from Fritz and, with his aged hands, he moulds it into a
wheel.

"You see... This clay here be quite useful, young'un. It can be used to make all
sorts of things. This here clay is imbued with limitless possibilities."

With an arthritic popping of his knuckles, Torauk crushes the wheel and slowly
reforms the material into a simple bowl.

"Just because it's clay, still wet from the earth, doesn't mean it's useless. A
bowl can be good for many things... And the clay can be used to make it."

Placing the bowl on the desk in front of the rapt atavian, Torauk gives a soft
grunt and squashes it, returning it to the unformed lump it started as.

Casting an eye about the busy class, he turns back to Fritz.

"Clay has many uses. the potential be limitless if you just be willing to open
your eyes, open your mind and see it."

Breaking off a damp lump, he leans his ancient bones upon the desk. WIth
friendly eyes - he regards the youth as he slowly begins to make an arm.

"Now, you be listening carefully to me, boy..."

With a raised voice that instantly quiets the class and draws their attention to
him, Torauk starts to speak.

"I'm going to tell you a bit of how Lord Phaestus came to be known as the
DwarfFather."

With rolling fingers, he slowly shapes a tiny arm and then rips off another
piece of clay, forming another.

Setting the arms down, he moulds another few lumps as he speaks.

"Lord Phaestus, bless His great eternal heart. Well, He looked upon the world
and He found it wanting for something." The old dwarf's work starts to resemble
a leg.

"And what did the Lord Father see? Well... He had something in that great mind
and He started to work with some clay... Yes He did."

Once again Torauk finishes a limb, and works on the second leg, carefully
moulding it with skilled hands.

"He was wanting to make something to breathe life into, and with His own hands
He did..."

Resting the two legs upon the desk beside the arms, he begins to shape a head
and torso. Slowly. Carefully.

"And do you know what He made, laddy?"

Torauk's sharp blue eyes direct the question at the now rapt Fritz. The old
dwarf combines all five parts into a short, stout figure.

"He made the Dwarves, child... All from common 'useless' clay."

Setting the sculpture down in front of the boy, he stands slowly, stiff bones
creaking.

"You see, kid... Nothing is useless. Everything be having a purpose when you are
crafting... It's just all on you to see it's full potential."

Lifting a clenched hand to rest briefly above his heart, Torauk gives a wistful
smile.

"Just like the Lord Father did, all them years ago."