Catching on, Qubit lets out an unvoiced chuckle. "Aha. Well, yes and no. The tech's broadly similar in principle, but -" He pauses briefly, considering how best to explain, before deciding not to bother. Shaking his head, he says, "Perhaps I'd better just show you."
And without further ado (or any time to protest), he raises his watch and taps START.
The simulation takes only seconds to load, but it nonetheless does so in phases. First, rough shapes and approximate colors - the frontage in general outline, muted violet, and low grey stairs up to the suggestion of a door. Then the details begin filling in, bit by bit - stonemasonry and wood siding, shingles and paving stones, bare ivy stems weaving their spidery lattice across the surface. Opaque windowpanes turn transparent, then reflective.
And finally, there it stands: Longinmouth Manor, or close enough.
When Qubit asked Carlisle for the designs, weeks back, Carlisle delivered. Specifically, he delivered two or three hundred pages of blueprints, sketches, and diagrams, in minute detail, many of them crammed full of tiny handwriting. But from the looks of it, Qubit's done his best to adhere to the source material. Sure, he may have opted to automate some of the more tedious steps, but he expressly avoided taking creative liberties.
The area they're standing in now is the courtyard, just outside the front door. A cobbled path has its terminus here, allowing wagons and carriages to disembark; none are present, though, and given the weather, none seem likely to arrive. The yard itself is mostly clear, but high snowdrifts cling to the walls and trees in all directions, almost like a wall around the property, while fat white flakes drift silently from a gently overcast sky. The cold is less bitter than a true Dargaranian winter, but it's otherwise a decent likeness of one.
no subject
Catching on, Qubit lets out an unvoiced chuckle. "Aha. Well, yes and no. The tech's broadly similar in principle, but -" He pauses briefly, considering how best to explain, before deciding not to bother. Shaking his head, he says, "Perhaps I'd better just show you."
And without further ado (or any time to protest), he raises his watch and taps START.
The simulation takes only seconds to load, but it nonetheless does so in phases. First, rough shapes and approximate colors - the frontage in general outline, muted violet, and low grey stairs up to the suggestion of a door. Then the details begin filling in, bit by bit - stonemasonry and wood siding, shingles and paving stones, bare ivy stems weaving their spidery lattice across the surface. Opaque windowpanes turn transparent, then reflective.
And finally, there it stands: Longinmouth Manor, or close enough.
When Qubit asked Carlisle for the designs, weeks back, Carlisle delivered. Specifically, he delivered two or three hundred pages of blueprints, sketches, and diagrams, in minute detail, many of them crammed full of tiny handwriting. But from the looks of it, Qubit's done his best to adhere to the source material. Sure, he may have opted to automate some of the more tedious steps, but he expressly avoided taking creative liberties.
The area they're standing in now is the courtyard, just outside the front door. A cobbled path has its terminus here, allowing wagons and carriages to disembark; none are present, though, and given the weather, none seem likely to arrive. The yard itself is mostly clear, but high snowdrifts cling to the walls and trees in all directions, almost like a wall around the property, while fat white flakes drift silently from a gently overcast sky. The cold is less bitter than a true Dargaranian winter, but it's otherwise a decent likeness of one.