Dawn, Mud, Regular

The search for arcane knowledge consumed him. The ability to wield life and death with ease demands a singular focus.

He’d forgotten his name. If anyone visited, they’d know for certain he’d forgotten his bathing regime. But he’d found a way to implant life in the most mundane of materials: mud.

Six months of preparation had led to this hour before dawn. With the rising of the sun his creation would stand, walk, breathe.

Glowing gossamer threads flowed from his hands, the Earth itself groaning, chanting.

Then, a voice. “Ugh. Where can a guy get a regular cup of mud?”