Main Room

The dim grow becomes more dense as Slii absentmindedly reaches out to grasp the tooth and add it to the small pile in his hands. Then slowly, a tendril of hazy brilliance extends from his forehead and touches the pile of scraps, weaving from one object to the next. Once it has them all ensnared, the rope of light begins drawing them together. The flesh of the leather flows over the bones as the strands of hair begin to glow and weave themselves throughout the soft fibers of the leather. The bones attach to one another and hollow out forming a tube which the leather caps at one end.

Into the other end the tooth inserts, reshaped to fit and with a tiny hollow running from the root to the tip. The hair settles into its new places on the leather grip, still glowing faintly and arranged into complex flowing runes.

The pen, for that's exactly what it is, sits completed in the palm of Slii's gnarled hand. He pants lightly as the light dies down, exertion showing on his face.

"Delicate work, yes-yes, but worthy of a master flesh-crafter. Here, kinmate-Raennall, it is yours to keep-hold." He offers the Lady the pen, glowing green runes catching the light as it rolls on his palm at the movement.