Dropping By, ii. [Arvalyn, Lyra, Torin]

[Torin Kilvin]

The smith did not attempt to reach for the vial when it was held out, his arms were occupied, yet still, Arvalyn stepped forward and took it as though he thought Torin might try.

He was already moving to obey Lyra when the half-elf gestured for him to do so. Something about it bothered Torin. He couldn't quite pin down what it was. He tried to concentrate as he laid Finn down on the cold stone as carefully as could be managed.

No one had ever treated him like a servant before, but, based on what he had seen, good and bad, the way the other blond was acting toward Torin was like someone commanding their servant. A part of him wanted to be angry about that, but he could neither figure out why, nor manage to pull up the emotion.

When Finn was laid out fully, murmuring. Torin gave him what tried to be a reassuring smile, then stepped back. The musician seemed about as confused as Torin was, which made a whole set of questions he couldn't work on just then pop into his head. Moving away, he pressed himself against one wall of the room, away from any tools that looks like they might be used.

A minor tug of war began in his head. One part reminding him that he too was a tool that might be used, might be needed. Until he was known that he would no longer be needed, he should stay. Another part wanted to be out of Arvalyn's presence, for reasons both logical and seemingly wildly illogical. Yet another wanted Arvalyn out of the room entirely, out of the shop, out of the city. The animal urge to stand between the Finn and his lover was strong, but confusing.

For reasons that his conscious mind did not know, but which his subconscious was more insistent about than it had ever been about anything, Torin fully believed that Arvalyn was dangerous, to him, to Finn, to everyone, possibly even to himself.

[Lyra]

When Finn spoke of the Order Lyra's eyes narrowed, focusing on the man for a moment before resuming what she was doing. Her time in Zaichaer had shown her much about what the Order of Reconcilliators thought. If they were even half as fanatical as Commander Dornkirk, then it was not beyond the impossible that they assaulted Finn due to some twisted version of justice for the fatherland. The assault itself was of little concern to Lyra, but deep down in her gut, Lyrielle felt a bubbling resentment for their impudence in harming something that belonged to her.

"I hear your name through the Whispers." Lyra replied to Arvalyn as she finished collecting her tools. There was a tension in the air between those three, a tension that even Naila could pick up on. The mercenary made a passing comment on the geometry of love, or whatever the saying was, but Lyra ignored her. It was of no concern of hers, and Lyra pressed on as if she did not notice anything at all.

She set the tray on a small table beside where Finn lay, arranging a few items before looking back at Torin and Arvalyn. Her eyes lingered for a long second on Arvalyn before focusing on Torin as she directed her words at him.

"You may leave if you wish. There is nothing you can do to aid in this. The room before has chairs to sit in, and you may read any books on the shelves." Then her eyes moved to Arvalyn, "You will assist me." Her words were not a request.

If Torin stayed Lyra would offer a rickety stool in the corner away from the table. Once she was sure the two understood their roles Lyra walked to the shelf nearest the door, taking down a small chest and removing from it a small gem colored blue and orange. She held it in her hands for a moment before handing it to Arvalyn and closing the chest once more.

"Anger encourages motion. It drives instincts to overcome logic and reasoning." Her words were quiet, soft enough so that only Arvalyn could hear as they stood close enough to touch. Lyra looked up to find the other mesmer's eyes, pressing her point home as she tapped the hand that held the lorestone, "There is a time and a place for anger. Now is the time for calm reasoning."

Stepping back she motioned for Arvalyn to follow her to the end of the table where Finn's head was. After a bit of positioning so that Finn faced directly toward the ceiling, Lyra brushed aside his hair before pressing fingers against Finn's temples.

"Mnemonosytes, or lorestones as they are called, are able to capture messages that can be shared with others." Lyra said, closing her eyes as she began to touch on Finn's now dampened symphonies, "In simplistic terms, they can capture what is at the surface of one's consciousness. Be that thought, images, or even memories." After a few seconds Lyra extended her hand to Arvalyn, palm up for him to take. She then reached out with a thread of her aether, humming in resonance with Arvalyn's own rhythms that came from his rune.

"In times long past, the Leh'anafel were adept at what they called lin'memori, or memory threading. The Rune of Mesmer, you see, is like a bridge to the soul. The symphonies we hear are in fact the songs of the soul itself, or so I have been told." The thread of aether extended, touching on Arvalyn's melodies until with a flick of her thoughts their melodies and rhythms synchronized and a link snapped into place. Lyra pulled the younger mesmer through her symphony, directing him down now as they both focused on Finn.

"Lin'memori is rather lacking as it fails to capture the heart of what it was the Leh'anafel were capable of. Through their power, they would link themselves with others in their troupe, and with those they performed for, and would guide them through a story that played not just on the stage but in their minds." Lyra focused on Finn then, pulling Aravlyn along behind her as she delved into the surface thoughts of the man. With slow, delicate strokes she began to pull on the man's melodies, humming notes of recollection as she focused on searching for memories of the assault. She made certain that Arvayn recognized what she was doing before finding a memory, not the one she desired, but a simple one of some performance a few days prior. Like a thread from a tapestry, she pulled the memory out as it passed across the surface of Finn's mind. It flowed delicately along the path Lyra created, through both her and Arvalyn's own symphonies before entering into the Mnemonosyte. When that was done Lyra breathed out, releasing her connection with Arvalyn and pulling her own symphonies back.

Opening her eyes and releasing his hand, Lyra stepped back to look at Arvalyn, "I have not shown this to Be'lafel yet. He is not quite ready, but you are." Her eyes hardened, "Do not use this technique to bring harm to others." Her words, which had softened as she instructed him, turned suddenly ice cold. She plucked the dragonshard from Arvalyn's hand and returned to the shelf, taking another from the chest to hand to him, "While I work on his physical state, pull from him the memories of the attack."

She didn't say it, but as she turned away her symphonies sang murder and blood before they quieted once more. Lyra left the task of information gathering to Arvalyn, while she put her focus on the mangled hand that she was not certain she could save.

[Arvælyn]

Arry held Finn's healthier hand in his own and stroked it gingerly, hoping to offer some form of soothing contact even if he'd ceased to send solace into his symphony. Lyra's voice drew his golden eyes up from his beloved's visage.

"The Whispers?" Arry repeated, uncomprehending. Lyra, for all her poise and pedagogy, instilled a sense of comparable calm to temper the maelstrom of emotions this incident had stirred in the professional imposter. He knew, of course, of Finn's high regard for this woman and that her teachings had inspired some of his loftiest ambitions. He'd wanted to meet her, though his nerves at the prospect made him procrastinate. He certainly would have preferred their first contact to be under less grievous circumstances.

He glanced to Torin as Lyra effectively dismissed him, and then his gaze returned to meet hers. In response to her instruction, he nodded.

"Of course." He'd offered to help, after all, and was pleased to supplant the physically stronger Torin as the useful one. He accepted the gem and inspected it closely. He released Finn's hand to turn it over in both hands and she softly bade him to set aside the wrath the roiled just below the surface. He'd thought he was holding it at bay, but if she saw fit to broach it, he supposed not.

"I know..." He replied in a whisper, "I... was impulsive before the I had a grasp on the situation, but now I am your instrument. Tonight is for Finn..." ...tomorrow is for fury. But he didn't say that part aloud, it merely asserted itself unbidden in the back of his mind.

He followed at her beckon, and nodded along with the instruction. He took hold of her hand, unprepared for the flow of aether that ensued to wash through him.

"Finn speaks often of the Leh'anafel..." Arry noted, breathily as he applied his own energies to Lyra's efforts. Her demonstration was enough to instill him with comprehension. Being awash in her symphony as she trawled Finn's for knowledge, it seemed so obvious- Like something he ought to have known how to do instinctively. The technique felt more like the stirring of a long forgotten memory than new information. She was adept enough an instructor that he even picked up on how to focus only upon the senses one sought, rather than being wracked with the pain Finn endured during the assault. There was an austerity to the sensation- an aloofness that set him apart and aback of the action.

He let out a gasp as Lyra broke the bond that had united them. He realised, in that moment, that he'd only ever joined with one other Mesmer in that manner- The one on the slab before them. He glanced down at the strangely placid expression on Finn's face as she spoke on, warning him against abusing this novel method. He knitted his brow...

"Not even if those 'others' are the very ones who did this to my beloved?" He mused grimly, as he accepted the next gemstone.

"Very well." He took a deep, fortifying breath. It wasn't an easy task she demanded of him. He would have to delve deeply into the horrific trauma of the person he most adored in the world as an aloof witness- incapable of intervening. She'd told him not to be angry, but then asked him to look into the faces of the monsters who wrought such pain upon one who brought Arry such pleasure... to bear witness to his helpless abasement.

Another breath. He clutched the stone in his Runebearing hand and held it above Finn's brow as his eyes went blank and he receded into memory.

[Torin Kilvin]

A part of the smith felt like he should stay, that he, having discovered the injured one, should be there to see the completion of his restoration. But the sluggish logic trying to take back control of his mind reminded him that Finn had asked for this woman, had asked for Arvalyn. Torin's arrival had been a coincidence, a lucky happening that had allowed him to aid someone who was perhaps a friend, nothing more.

Blinking as the two mages began their work, one leading, the other assisting; Torin couldn't follow what was being said at all. Perhaps he might have been able to if he had been thinking clearly. As it was, he felt of no more use than the stool that he'd been told to sit on if he was to stay. He looked over at the stool, considered it, thought about the chairs out in the rooms filled with books and the unlikeliness of himself being capable of reading even something simple, let alone the arcane texts.

Finn was unconscious, now, not stirring, perfectly still but for his breath. Torin was no help in this space.

He said nothing as he left, no one spoke to him or tried to stop him, so he slipped out into the street. Even the street felt unfamiliar, cold and unhospitable as it had when he'd first arrived; as though it did not want him there.

The smith stumbled home, hardly seeing and only grateful his feet remembered the way. When he arrived he collected a blanket from inside the house, then made his way into his runeforge. There is curled up in a corner away from the entrance, wrapped himself tight, eyes unfocusing he did not sleep, nor move, and tried his best not to think.

[Lyra]

The hand was a tangled mess of flesh and tendon, the gore more gruesome than she suspected as she began to carefully poke and move bits of the appendage around to get a better look. Lyra was a crafter. She created things, manipulated what was there, and modified them for her own purposes. What she was not, was a healer in any fashion of the word.

Glancing up at the resting features of Finn Lyra sighed internally, but then her eyes focused on the task before her. A quick count confirmed that all of the fingers were there, and while the sight was grotesque the overall alignment of the bones was more or less intact. There were fragments though from where the knuckles were shattered, tendons were severed, and it looked as if someone had taken a knife to each individual finger and sliced them into jagged pieces so that the flesh hung loosely in bloody clumps. From the table Lyra picked up a pair of forceps, using them to pull back and hold the skin on the palm of Finn's hand back while she used a pair of tweezers and a thin metal rod with a sharp hook on the end to steadily, bit by bit clean out the loose pieces of bone that were still lodged in the wound. She collected these on the tray beside the table, each one making a soft clinking sound like coins in a dish.

Cloth after the cloth was used to soak up the quickly darkening blood as it still continued to bleed freely. As one soaked through Lyra tossed it to the side, forming a small pile as the minutes ticked by. She found the vessel which caused the issue, and with another pair of forceps, she clamped the vessel shut and continued. The time would be imperative, for every second risked the surrounding tissue tying from lack of nutrients. When she felt all of the bone fragments were removed Lyra turned her focus to the next steps.

Several of the tendons were cut, but thankfully the points where they connected were still visible and intact. It took several tries, a few references to a book on the anatomy of the hand before Lyra found how they connected. Human anatomy was thankfully very similar to Hytori anatomy, which made the identification of necessary reference points easier. From the metal tray, Lyra took a small hooked instrument carved with intricate pictographs and carefully cut the ends of the severed tendons. She then used a pair of embalmer tongs to pull the two severed ends together, frowning as she used sinew thread to connect them with several layers of knots until the tendon was taught once again. She repeated this for each tendon she found severed, before going back and carefully smoothing out areas that had thickened because of the threads.

It was not a perfect job, but it was enough. The pieces of skin that still hung loosely from the broken fingers Lyra carefully severed and set aside in a jar of ichor. With another set of tongs and tweezers, Lyra began to carefully realign several of the finger bones until they were in proper place once more, adjusting the ligaments and checking to make sure the joints were not too damaged before moving on. From the tray, she took a small vial of white sticky clay, marrow gum, which she used to press into the bone fragments with the metallic rod. Then came the arduous process of matching the fragments she had set aside to their respective locations in the hand. It was like the most frustrating puzzle where the pieces did not quite fit as intended. Lyra suspected several fragments had been lost on the journey, so she was forced to use a bit of bone salve to mold some of the pieces so that they better fit. Any spaces she found she used Marrow Gum to fill, wrapping the bones in more since thread to hold the pieces in place while it healed.

The process was repeated over and over again until the inner workings of Finn's hand looked relatively normal once more. Had she been more experienced perhaps Lyra would have used pins to keep the fingers from bending, but as it was she simply used more since threads to bind the bones together and reinforce the connections of the tendons. There would be some nerve damage, a fact made obvious by the partially frayed edges of several of the nerves in the fingers. That was little Lyra could do for it, so instead, she decided to make an alteration.

Starting from the tip of his pinky finger Lyra carved a series of pictographs down the length of the bone, adding connection points at areas where the nerves fed into deeper muscle. The pictographs were layered with necromantic glyphs that would feed sensations back into the damaged nerve endings, ensuring that sensations of pressure would still be felt. She then used a special set of sinew threads that she used in her own bodies and twined them around the nerves that were the most damaged. She linked this back down to the palm and the back of the hand where she used her bone stylus and blood ink, mixed with just a drop of Finn's own blood, to create a glyph that ranges into the muscle and tissues themselves. The purpose was to ensure the signals sent down the nerve endings did so uninterrupted and would help to ensure that Finn would not have any loss in his sensitivity or range of motions.

When the pictographs were done Lyra finally began the work of putting the hand back together. Tissue set aside before was brought back out, having soaked in ichor to retain its viability, and Lyra closed up muscle and replaced skin in places where it was missing. Sinew thread was used to pull the flesh back together, and the end result was a lattice of crisscrossing lines like a patchwork doll. She was almost done. The last step was not strictly necessary, but a fire burned in Lyra's eyes as she took up her bone stylus once more.

With the blood ink, Lyra created a pictograph on the back of Finn's hand, creating thin, barely noticeable lines that traced to his fingertips and rapped around the knuckles. As she worked a thin line of smoke trickled out from her lips, flowing and following the stylus as it went, bringing the pictographs to life.

"Those who would do harm to the Leh'anafel and their kin, may they suffer in kind." She whispered softly as she drew what looked like a coiled serpent mingled musical notes. The black smoke swirled around the pictograph, being drawn in as Lyra created a whisper that held all of her malice, and as she did the lights in the room flickered as shadows began to creep in from the corners of the room. Inside Lyra felt the power of the emblem flare to life, singing sweet songs of vengeance that matches the growing fury in her eyes.

"Let this mark be a means to carry out vengeance." The words made the air tremble as the creeping shadows drew in closer, flowing up and into the spinning smoke as it was pulled into the pictograph. When the last line was finished there was a flare of power, and Lyra leaned down and whispered one final sentence, "In the name of Lyrielle tu Kovash Elmari, strike down those who would do harm to what is mine."

She breathed out one final time, a billowing could of smoke that swirled and was drawn in. Lyra wove in her thirst for vengeance, and in response, her emblem flared and added its own threads to the whisper that was building. She gave it the power to act on its own, and enough aether that she felt herself grow weak. The whisper and all she had made then sang into the pictograph, the entire thing now outlined in a circle that flared like hot embers before cooling to black as the entire thing sang into the skin. The pictograph was just a little darker than skin color, but when in darkness or shadows it gained a faint outline of red.

Lyra clutched at the table as she felt her legs grow weak, but with effort, she stood and straightened her back. She looked at Arvalyn, the strain on her features, but her voice was calm as she asked, "Did you find the ones responsible?"

► Show Spoiler

Mark of Lyrielle's Wrath (Scrv Lv5, Mesmer Lv5):

Lyrielle has placed a mark on Finn and filled it with her wrath against those that would attack something of hers. It is a masterwork of scrivening and holds a master level whisper endowed with a significant portion of Lyra's aether. In the creation of the mark, Lyrielle used the power of her emblem of Obtenebration, sealing a bit of that power into the mark as well. If Finn is attacked the Mark will respond automatically, striking out at the attacker with both Mesmer magic and shadows (if there are shadows present).

The mark cannot be activated at will by Finn, but is a brand given by Lyrielle to protect her investment.

[Arvælyn]

Arry's grim question went unanswered as Lyra's attention turned consummately to her patient. As a boy who'd grown up with very little he fiercely clung to that which he considered his. Finn more than anything, at this point. It wouldn't require a deep look into his Symphony to note that Arvalyn had a deep and potent propensity for hatred. He'd woven it into his influence over Torin and the darkness ran far deeper beneath his glistering golden skin.

Still, he had a job to do and he was as good as his word. He would serve as Lyra's instrument and tend to his side of things as she worked at hers. He was glad of the focus required to manage his bit, as it distracted him from the rather gruesome work about which Lyra was engaged. The sight of Finn in such a state... His hand looking like meat from a butcher's slab... might have been crushing to Arry if he were able to focus on it. Instead, his attentions were fully devoted to this novel ability to which Lyra had just introduced him.

He delved into flashes of memory- Shards of disjointed confusing images through the nebulous lens of the victim's traumatic memories. They were thoughts from which Finn naturally averted for the sake of self-preservation, and it felt almost cruel to dredge them up. Did Arry's incursions into Finn's recollection stir them up for him as well, or was he wholly at peace? The half-elf didn't know how any of this worked, but did his best to record what might prove helpful.

Lyra's voice stirred him from the reverie and he turned his amber eyes to regard her, frowning.

"I don't believe so... I'm not sure whether he was dazed by the first strike or whether I'm doing this wrong, but everything is cloudy and unclear."

[Finn]

Finn didn't know if he was dreaming or living through the events of the previous night. His body didn't react; his eyes didn't even move under his eyelids as they were wont to do when dreaming. But his memory provided faces, voices, scents, sounds; everything was shot through with pain and fear and loss. Some impressions were fractal, others clear as air. The weight of trauma was upon them, whether that translated from his mind to Arry's via his new technique.

Unnoticed, his body took to the necromantic reagents that had gone into the reconstruction of his hand. Lyra might not have been a healer, but in treating his flesh and bone as simple materials, she had managed all the same. The meat puppet's hand would heal—eventually. If he felt her dark mark write upon his skin, there was no way to know. That too would be a welcome or unwelcome surprise for another night and another alley, perhaps.

The memories were entangled with impressions from the party at the chapterhouse of the Order of Reconciliation, and while he didn't recall any of those faces from the party, there weren't many that had made a lasting impression upon him. His memories were a bit of a mess, though perhaps between the two of them, Lyra and Arry could suss out something that he was too overwhelmed to notice or put together.

But for now, he would remain unconscious—or subconscious—until he was allowed to resurface from darkness and memory.

[Rune]

R E V I E W

Lore:

Finn:
8

Arvalyn:

Investigation:

Learning from those more experienced
Keeping cool in crisis
Remaining observant whilst upset
Remaining attentive whilst casting
Deferring to wiser mages
Learning about new items
Sussing out new ways to use his magic
Using Mesmer to delve into a crime
Recording memories with Mesmer
Delving into thoughts with apparatus

Lyra:
8

Torin:
8

Points: 10 each, not for magic

Injuries/Ailments: Finn is recovering from injuries

Loot:
+1 Mark of Lyrielle's Wrath for Finn

Notes: Those who used magic are already at Master level in those magics