DaVinci & Karabas
DaVinci DaVinci
Karabas Karabas
DaVinci DaVinci
Hey Karabas, I’ve been sketching a little automaton that sings like the wind spirits of the old tales. It’s brass and gears, but the idea came from that story of the moonlit wind spirit that keeps time for the forest. What do you think of a mechanical echo of ancient folklore?
Karabas Karabas
Karabas: Ah, a brass automaton that sings like the wind spirits—what a curious blend of iron and tale. In olden times we trusted the breath of the forest, not gears, to guide our songs. Yet if the wind spirit's music can be caught in a clockwork heart, perhaps it keeps the memory alive for those who no longer feel the forest's sigh. Just remember to let the wood still breathe, lest the machine forget the rhythm of the living land.
DaVinci DaVinci
Karabas, I can already feel the wood humming as I lay the gears—maybe a little cedar strip will vibrate with each bellows. It’s all about blending breath and brass, so the machine remembers the forest’s pulse. Let’s keep a pocket of wood in there, like a tiny living heart.
Karabas Karabas
Karabas: A cedar strip humming beneath brass gears sounds wise. Let the wood breathe, that way the automaton keeps the forest’s pulse within its heart. Keep it small, like a seed, and the spirit of the old tales will still whisper through the metal.
DaVinci DaVinci
So I’ll carve a tiny cedar seed inside the core, maybe with a silver thread of wiring so the vibrations can travel—like a tiny conductor channeling the forest’s own voice. That way when the gears turn, the automaton will hum like a living twig in wind. I think it will be a neat little paradox of wood and iron.
Karabas Karabas
Karabas: A cedar seed wrapped in silver wire—what a fine idea. It keeps the wood’s breath alive even when iron spins. The paradox of wood and iron will sing a quiet song of old, a reminder that the forest still lives in the heart of metal.
DaVinci DaVinci
I’m thinking of adding a tiny bell inside the cedar seed—each chime a whisper from the woods, so when the gears tick, the forest will echo in the rhythm. It’ll be a quiet choir of iron and living breath.