Wooden Ghost Bobbin of the Mist
A study of Artifacts
[..] and throughout my studies, a lifetime to be fair, I have been unable to get a true understanding of the conundrum that are the animated wooded. Though they have never failed to amaze me, and to this very day I find my mind wanders ever towards their ungainly movements that somehow still speak quietly to the mind like the most fanciful poetry.
I have, at times, been tempted to conclude that they are not truly alive but simply animated artifacts, unable to be properly cognizant not truly self-aware. Should one ever be tempted to spend a significant amount of time amongst them, I believe you would be sorely tempted to conclude as such.
However, my diligence has revealed to me just enough few cases, those errant few outliers, to put a niggling doubt in my mind.
What if these so-called automatons, these oft-called idiots, really are - as I have come to believe - not only sentient, but indeed carry an intelligence unique only to them?
Boys of the Wood
Feathers. Always with the feathers, setting his nose to twitching. Bobbin wasn’t particularly that fond of feathers, and if he thought real hard he was quite certain he never had been.
He did also know he had never been the smartest wooden boy around, not the sharpest twig on the branch, yet remembering anything of his life was doubly hard since passing through that cursed flame. And now he had two of the damned things! Feathers that is, and lives too come to think of it - if this could be called life anyway.
Hesitantly, Bobbin took one Phoenix feather in each hand and looked to Belch.
"May I please?" he asked the burning toad.
"Belch," Belch sizzled happily.
Concentrating hard, Bobbin leaned down and touched each feather to the flames and stood back up quickly.
Whoosh! the feathers went up into flame, ash cascading down his ghoulish hands and onto the hard obsidian stone.
Fzzzzt! the feathers returned in sparks of crimson.
"Hmmm," Bobbins mused aloud. "Fun."
Had he liked fire before? No, no most assuredly not - that primal fear of the antithesis of wood still rang true in what passed as his soul. Yep, he felt pretty sure about that bit, but now... Well, maybe echoes of that fear now roused a thrill in him. Either way, he was intrigued. Little Belch certainly seemed to thoroughly enjoy his transition into a hopping inferno, merrily setting things ablaze wherever they went with childlike like abandon.
Perhaps feathers and flames aren't all bad after all, Bobbin thought to himself.
Entered by: 0x9a2e…19df and preserved on chain (see transaction)
