Meanwhile, on the other side of the Scar, metal clanging could be constantly heard as it echoed through the canyons.
If one were to center on the source of the clanging, they would find a large-ish hut, made out of pure steel, seemingly ignoring the Scar, being way too close to it for any sane human being to live in it.
The man living in the hut was not sane; at least, by some certain accords, regarding not only his site of residence, but also his obsession with the Scar, restlessly studying it with a variety of advanced instruments and spells, as well as the fact that he lived in similar huts for almost three years now, in a stat of almost complete isolation, barring his trips to the closest avalaible Scar -infested area at the time and reading the nearest village for supplies.
That man, named Jonathan Silvas, was also the source of the constant clanging, as he was carefully forging the frame of his latest-conceived instrument over the flames into which bellows were continuously supplying with air, seemingly with no external guidance. He did not need to go through all this trouble; he was able to manipulate the metal into its needed shape with no tools at all, which is exactly what he had done with the extremely delicate components that were to be inserted to the frame, in much less time than he had spent forging the simple metal pyramid. He insisted on using his hands, though; he was afraid that eventually, his fellow Elementals would become so accustomed to using their powers for everything, that they would not only forget their roots, but also stop honing their body and grow weak. Besides, the constant clanging and the heat from the flames kept him company, in times where his books, or even the social interaction with the superstitious and uneducated villagers could not.
Suddenly, between the clanging, he heard a fade beep from the other room, which meant that one of his instruments had caught something out of the ordinary. And truly, his dodecahedron-shaped Storm Core Abnormality Recorder had caught something big travelling through the milder (if this can be said for a storm made out of all kinds of supernatural power) areas of the Scar in a respectable pace.
"Poor souls", his lips muttered, "trying their human best to conquer the greatest force of nature known. May Reaver have mercy on them." His mind begged to differ, however, and was now racing. This ship -whatever it was- would show up earlier if it had come from his side, which meant that it had reached at least halfway through. And they seemed -he checked his topographical map of the Scar he had constructed- yep, they were traveling through the most faded path in the Scar that was avalaible to them, which clearly showed some capability. There were Elementals up there, he had no doubt about that. Could they be coming from the Academy? Possibly.
But why? Could they be coming to pick him up? He didn't think so. Even though it was possible that the years have showed them the possibility for research that is avalaible at the Scar, and even if they had realised his ambitions were more than the constant ramblings of a man grown mad from the knowledge, they had no way of knowing his position, or even the fact that he was alive- let alone th fact that he was following the Scar throughout the known world. They probably didn't even think it was possible. Fools, he shook his head. They were content with sitting in their Academy and believe that there was no other course of action; have their walks around the garden, train young students on how to throw their little magiks onto one another and never wonder about where it all comes from -just like they grew up. "Have faith in your powers" some would say, "never question what is bestowed by the Gods upon ye" would say others. Fools.
But now he realised that he actually was rambling, and in a way that almost made him question his own sanity. His mind was so much more peaceful away from those affairs for so long. But now, there was no time to waste. He started trotting around the room, grabbing scrolls from here and there as he deemed necessary. He never was on good affairs on organisation, which now proved to be a problem as he tried to guide himself through the chaos of scrools, books, and experiments. He didn't care, though; he had all the time he needed. When he had acquired all the scrolls and books which he considered vital -he could remember the rest more or less anyways- he reached for a sizable backpack, into which he fitted them along with as many non-Scar specific instruments he could fit. He left any Scar-specific instrument back where it was, and decided to one day return to get what they had recorded. He then sat down and observed the movement of the ship through the S.C.A.R.
He no longer cared about what as the ship, or who was onboard, or who sent it, or where it went.
If it survived through the Scar (still highly unlikely), he wanted to be on it.