Here lad, you take it. We’ve been through a lot this pot and I, ever since the last Great War, but you’re too young to remember that one. I had this with me in all my campaigns after that. The Althial Border Wars, the rising of the Dragon Lords, the Dwarven Rage… Ah but I’m old and toothless now an’ it’s no use to me. Take the pot lad, use it well. At least you’ll always be guarenteed a reasonable meal
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman