Precocious

[Hekatos]

Precocious

21st of Searing, 124th Year of the Age of Steel

Sivan had told Torin some things about the master who had taught him artificing, the eccentric elf who had taken him and an Awoken out of Sol'Valen to go on a sort of adventure in his twilight years rather than rest on his well-earned laurels in Silfanore or even Inokova, where Makers were most highly esteemed. More than anything else, they were now riding on Tavári'nar Val'Gwairil's coattails back into Sol'Valen. The dearly departed Maker had family, of course, be he had left behind a workshop run by three old students: Tavárinoikos.

The building was historic, albeit with improvements and embellishments made by the Makers who worked there. It held a place of honor in the Dýolon Courtyard in the inner Amforéon.

Someday, perhaps, they would move on and form their own workshops, leaving this place to their students or to other students of the Master. All three were artificers, of course, but had other, complementary specialties. It was the Master Maker who was the most competent runeforger who came to find Torin, her dark face pinched.

"Apprentice Kilvin," she said in perhaps overly careful Mythrasi—he wasn't, after all, a native speaker. But slow or quick, her voice made music of his name, elevating it out of the village muck into which he had been born. "Set your work aside now. You must attend upon a... A special client, yes?" She waited for him to translate the Mythrasi in his head and answer in the affirmative. They were Makers, so they didn't require quick thinking so long as the results would astound.

While he had never seen her rushed—though it was barely three weeks he had spent learning here—she did seem a touch out of sorts. More than casual, passive scans with his Semblance were frowned upon, but he could sense that something out of the ordinary was happening. She led him quickly to one of the private showrooms and, turning to inspect him before opening the door, she sighed as if long-suffering, and thumbed away a bit of ink from his cheek.

"Remember," she said, speaking to him as if he were a child, though perhaps his grasp of the language didn't equip him to take offense, "you are here because the last apprentice of the Master vouched for you. Now you will have to make a good impression for all of us and our proud lineage." She paused as if she had volumes to say, but there wasn't time. "Come."

Inside was a striking elven woman, tall, with impossibly red hair and eyes that just might have been brightened magically; surely no one was born with eyes like that. They were visible, only partially shrouded by a clever creation of clockwork and magic that hovered over her hand.

"Ahh," said the Maker. "The perpetual motion engine. Hm, that is just a working title. Ma'am, this is the Kalzasern apprentice, Torin Kilvin. Apprentice, this is Her Royal Highness the Princess Ékhidna Sol'Eilran."

"Thank you, Maker," she said in a rich contralto. "You may leave us."

There was a pause, then a quick, "Yes, ma'am." She gave a meaningful look to Torin, and then disappeared.

[Torin Kilvin]

In the two weeks that Torin had been in the elven high city his grasp of their language, already passable for conversation, had grown by leaps and bounds. In the evenings he peppered Sivan with questions about words or phrases that he had heard for the first time or which obviously had alternate meanings from the literal translations. He did not need time to translate normal speech in his head but he suspected that the workers at the unbelievable workshop he had gained a temporary apprenticeship in thought that he did. It wasn't that he didn't understand, it was that he was afraid of getting his answers wrong, particularly where complicated runesmithing or artificing was concerned. The examinations he had undergone before the Master Makers would believe him capable had been extensive but, after the first flash of nervous energy had left him, actually really nice. He wasn't the equal of these Masters, nor had he been taught in anything like the exacting manner that they had been, but it was gratifying to see both his strengths impress them and where the gaps in his knowledge lay.

The projects he had been given, thus far, had been simple in concept but had been used to teach him different ways of doing than he already knew so, in a way, it was like starting over. Not literally, but it felt that way. When his attention was drawn away from the aether that he was manipulating it was a struggle not to complain, but he knew better. He bowed to his teacher, as he had been taught, and then followed her, intrigued, but confused. When she paused to examine and instruct him he grew only more confused. Perhaps this was another test?

Nodding understanding, even though he did not, and acceptance he entered the small showroom. 'Flame', his mind said when he saw the woman, without any real understanding of why, unless it was merely her hair. He began to bow when he was introduced but lowered his dip when he heard to whom. Straightening just in time to see the serious and meaningful look the Maker flashed him before leaving him alone with elven royalty was not encouraging. Once he was quite alone with the princess he kept himself as still and quiet as possible, eyes curious but not staring, waiting. Patience was something that those who lived in Sol'Valen seemed to consider of great value, and, besides, he had no idea what to say.

[Hekatos]

The flame measured him with critical, intense eyes. There was no hint of Semblance at work, but in his brief sojourn in the Crown City, he had learned that the elves were rarely what they seemed. Semblance was perhaps the Rune he sensed most around him; more elves lived in a state of awareness similar to his. But Sivan had warned him that just because he didn't sense something didn't mean it wasn't happening. More semblers meant more inverted auras and weaves, and while runeforgers were still rare, they were more common here than in Kalzasi. Even commoners of no great means might have a little charm to confound casual sembling.

Whatever the princess found in her study, she made no comment upon it.

"How much experience do you have with mnemonosyte enchantment, apprentice?"

[Torin Kilvin]

"I've worked with mnemonosyte several times." Seemed like a conservative and honest answer.

The truth was that his first solo project, and two others that had been very close to his heart had been working with that particular dragonshard. He felt an affinity with mnemonosyte that he didn't feel with any other shards as a whole group thought he suspected that might change when he began to work with the asterium Kala had offered him.

"I am... comfortable, with the shards." He chose the word carefully and let his aura reflect his meaning. It was an even bet that any native he interacted with either had a Semblance rune or had items or abilities that allowed them some insight into himself. A cursory scan of each other's auras seemed almost like a handshake, though delving deeper seemed to be viewed like crotch grabbing; very impolite.

The young smith's deference was not feigned. Torin had learned not to be intimidated into helplessness or silence by the presence of nobility over his time working, after all, the majority of the people who could afford his work were either blue blooded or rich enough to be. But he could still feel the difference between himself and them on many levels, a feeling that was emphasized so far from home.

"How may I assist you, Your Highness?"

[Hekatos]

"Hm."

She considered him.

"Mnemonosyte preserves personal thoughts and memories, but also serves as a repository for art, learning, and culture. My niece has taken to the art and culture of the clothes we wear, what they say about who we are as people, as a people, and how they help us express internal truths as well as our places in society. She keeps up with such things, and, of course, uses mnemenosyte to store images, impressions, thoughts, and notes. I would like to commission an artefact to help her collect such things--images, impressions, thoughts, notes--both for herself and for posterity. Rather than feed things into unworked mnemenosyte shards, a contained, but empty library, waiting to contain her personal archives.

"Of course, such things already exist, but here you are, a foreign apprentice at Tavárinoikos. I assume you know that Inakova is more famous among the elves for creativity in enchantments. Tavárinoikos is an exception to that rule, and you are an exception to the purity of the elven enchanters. I would see how you would tackle this problem and offer me something unique."

She paused and he could feel her Sembling him rather aggressively. She didn't delve into his childhood trauma, but she knew him in a way that left him feeling more vulnerable than if he stood physically naked before her.

"You are a seer." The way she said it, with a specific inflection in a specific mode of Mythrasi, made it clear that she didn't mean he was a priest of Galetira, nor even a common sembler, but a see-er. He saw the world in a way that few people did, closer, even akin to how the Gods must see the world. There was a modicum of grudging respect there. Perhaps she was one, too, for all he knew.

"I want to challenge you, and if you please me, I mean to reward you. Will you accept this challenge, apprentice?"

[Torin Kilvin]

As the princess spoke Torin had to fight not to look down at his own clothing, wondering what the simple, cool linen clothing he had purchased pre-made from a local market said about him. Did the way he had wrapped the tunic say something specific? The way he'd tied the belt, or cuffed up the leggings into his boots? Was he signaling unknown messages that any native could read?

Before he let these thoughts disturb him he reasoned that if such was the case, the local population would certainly attribute any mishaps to him being an ignorant foreigner, which he was. He was ignorant of the higher points of cultural modes of dress and address in his own homeland, though he was working on gaining an understanding now that he held a title and might be expected to know.

Thankfully, the conversation flowed into the description of a project almost immediately. The young smith could not know if the royal meant to commission such a thing from him or if she was testing his knowledge. It wasn't inconceivable that she might want him to do the work. The Runeforges of Sol'Valen were quite possibly the best in the world, but they did not make the ability to practice the art less rare, and being so well known, they were always years deep in orders.

The rush of her Semblance prying felt, for a moment, as though she were aggressively groping at his mind. However elegant the hands, or aether, in this case, it was still unnerving and felt like a violation. Thankfully, Aurin had trained him since he'd recovered from his Semblance threshold sickness in how to protect himself. At first, it had been simply blocking someone from reading him, but later they had worked on more subtle obfuscation. Taking a stronger stance, Torin met the elven eyes, opened the doors of his Rune to allow her to see what she would. Almost. There were specific places, specific things, that he kept private, for himself. Some were important, some were just personal, but they were all wrapped in deep layers of similar things that he was willing to let strangers see, so even his emotions would not betray the concealment.

Despite the urge, he did not delve back. His ability with Semblance was something that he didn't like to show off in its fullness. It wasn't even something he liked to do when he was alone. It was too much, too fast. He needed time for his mind to change, to grow in response to what his Rune tried to tell him. He did allow himself to read what she projected around herself, as he had learned that even elves without Semblance were usually trained to 'project' what they wanted others to see about them. After a full minute, he answered, slowly, his posture remaining that of a craftsman who has confidence in their craft.

"So long as it does not cause me to dishonor or neglect my work for Tavárinoikos, I will accept."

Perhaps he should have waited, contacted Aurin through his pendant, or let Sivan weigh in on the implications but the answer felt right in the parts of him that knew better than he did where magic was concerned.

[Hekatos]

An elegant eyebrow arched when he said dishonor.

"This will be your work for Tavárinoikos," she clarified slowly.

The princess didn't stay long, and Torin's instruction went on. She had left requirements with the masters and the masters would be overseeing his project, but if any were irritated by the fact that a commission was going to a new, foreign apprentice, they offered no evidence of the idea. Time and space were allotted for him to brainstorm and scribble notes; feedback was offered, but only once his idea had progressed beyond a certain point.

Sivan was more forthcoming with his input, but only because he was used to working hand-in-glove with his partner, and Torin asked, whether they were at the workshop or a thought occurred to him while they were at home.

A resident illusionist helped him create three-dimensional models of his schema and save them in a far simpler version of what the princess required so he could give a presentation to her before work began in earnest and more than mere time was spent upon this project.

!	Message from: Hekatos
	Feel free to fill in any blanks between the princess leaving and the princess returning for his presentation. It can take place at Tavárinoikos or at the palace if you would like him to be more uncomfortable. Just select a date that works for your calendar.