30th Searing 124
The discussions as to what to use in the creation of the commission had gone on for days. The final conversation had barely involved Torin at all as two of the eldest apprentices had sat facing one another across one of the meal tables one evening arguing the merits and drawbacks of the options in metals and forging methods long into the night. It had made the human's heart glow with pride that something he had come up with was worth the time of such experienced and exceptional Makers. He had never been a part of a school in which there had been highly skilled artisans who were passionate enough about their craft to fight, however gracefully and respectfully, for their opinions. There was no Runesmith's guild in Kalzasi, or, he imagined, enough people who followed the craft to make up such an establishment anywhere outside of Sol'Valen. To his astonishment and delight, his newborn acceptance as a competent craftsman meant that his projects were not only discussed, but often checked up on. Not in the way of a master checking up on an apprentice (though the masters did check up on him and expected exacting answers standards during their inspections) but from interest and curiosity.
The few times he was brave enough to wander over to another apprentice's workstation while taking a few minutes to stretch his legs, no one had objected. The friendlier ones had even answered his tentative questions. The school was a place to learn and share but every Runeforger had their secrets and private methods and Torin was too happy with his tentative level of acceptance to pry when he sensed resistance. He was a guest, not a member of the school. It hurt a little, knowing that he would never be a real part of such a thing, but it was still an honor and a privilege to be allowed a temporary stay.
By the end of the late argument between the two most invested in his project, it was agreed upon by the two elders (and not disagreed with by Torin in the least) that Manasilver should be used (according to one of the elves Must be used) to achieve the intended outcome. It would allow the other ingredients used to remain malleable without the enchantments losing stability over time. Torin's plan to use various fabrics, or, the idea of them (it was complicated) would require that flexibility in the magic even after it was set, if he didn't want the quality of what was presented to degrade over time. These concepts were not new to Torin but it was the first time he was being presented with them in a real setting. He had read about them in books, but humans did not often think of items in terms of hundreds or thousands of years of use. Runeforged items could last for generations, passed down from one to the next, but the enchantments were usually the sort that kept swords eternally sharp, or armor impenetrable. More complex magic had a way of twisting apart, falling in on itself to fail if you were lucky. If you were not lucky, the enchantments could change over time into entirely different ones as one part of the spells was lost or diminished.
The ideas existed more commonly in Scrivening: If a Scrivener was careless, another could come after them and scratch out or destroy one or more sigils to change the meaning of the aetheric phrases. This could even happen accidentally as a work of Scrivening worn down over time. This was why all Scriveners were taught to Close the Circle; to write in such a way that the aether would do only what was intended and if it was not able to do that, it would dissipate harmlessly back into the world. Thankfully, Torin's Scrivening training was now almost as advanced as his Runeforging, so the idea fit easily into his understanding. Briefly, he worried about his Runeforged works, wondering if someday, long after he was dead, any of them would degrade and harm the people who relied on them. It was something to think about later, when he could do something about it. Assuming there was anything that could be done about it.
Tavárinoikos had myriad contacts where sourcing the finest materials was concerned, so Torin was able to obtain enough of the highly sought-after metal to work the physically small creation he had planned. It was an odd substance, liquid in its pure form, only gaining solidity when it was infused with enough magic. This would mean doing the metal work alongside the Runeforging, a tricky proposition even when only using non-magical metals. The apprentice that had insisted on its use had significant experience and required only a little persuading and offering of work in trade to convince him to teach Torin how to work with the Manasilver and aid him during the actual creation.
The fabric he needed had to be Spellcloth, there was no other possible way it could be incorporated into the creation. He would not need much of any one piece, but he needed at least a few yards of many different kinds of fabric woven into Spellcloth. The undertaking was significant and it took him days to find a weaver who was both able and willing to make him what he would need. Once the fabrics were crafted he would need mages to enchant them, or Mage, singular, specific. Aurin had done the enchantment Torin needed on the Cloaks of Comfort as well as Lady Kala's Cloak of Concealment. It would mean importing his lover off and on for about a month, which would require paperwork. But the school was on his side now, and even a few of the masters seemed interested in how his final product would turn out, if, he suspected, partly because they expected him to fail and wanted to see how. Whatever their motivations, they provided the required paperwork needed for a visit from the redheaded fox. If Aurin couldn't make it, Torin could explain the spells needed to another Master of Masquerade, but the final product would be inevitably altered.
The need for Aetherite was inevitable, Viscerite would be needed in abundance at every stage of the crafting. The apprentice who was assisting him with the Manasilver explained that a small shard of Metallurium would be essential to forming the finicky metal and holding its shape before it solidified. Then there was the Mnemonosyte, the heart of the intended creation, without it, there would be no storage for the endless possibilities and no way to access them or control the device's other abilities. All of these could be found in Sol'Valen, for a price. It was a wonder to be in an ancient city where such strong magic was available for purchase. Torin prefered to source his dragonshards himself, when he was able, but such opportunities were sadly rare and he wanted as much time with the shards as he could get before he worked with them. Once purchased he kept them on his person, or within arms reach, at all times, even when he slept. Knowing your materials was vital in any craft, in Runeforging, it meant the difference between a wonder of creation and, destruction, sometimes, even death.
Mnemonosyte had been used in his very first original creation, it had been with him when he stepped from an apprentice into a journeyman and it held a special place in his mind. Being the mind-shard, this was apt, and, perhaps, in a certain light, poetic. Torin was no poet, the beauty he wrought was practical, to a purpose, and while some of his work might inspire awe in those who understood it, none of it would ever be performed before an audience for applause. At least, he never imagined any such thing. He was a hammer, an anvil, a forge; he made tools to be used. Even the delicate little trinket he was pouring his thought and energy into now, was a tool.
While he awaited the creation of his Spellcloth he worked assisting the other apprentices whose help he would need, studying any texts the school would allow him to lay hands on, and endlessly returning to his schema; updating, tweaking and worrying at it until neither he himself nor any of those willing to help could find anything else to adjust or argue over. There was no such thing as perfect, even the elves of Sol'Valen would not claim so, but it was as close as could be managed by mortal minds. It would not change the world, or even make it a better place in any real way, but it was good, in itself. A thing well made was as good as perfect to the one who needed it, his old master had used to say, and Torin had believed him. That belief carried him through the long nights of waiting to begin. The belief, and Sivan, who, in various ways, always managed to distract, relax, or exhaust him (or all three) to sleep each night.
The discussions as to what to use in the creation of the commission had gone on for days. The final conversation had barely involved Torin at all as two of the eldest apprentices had sat facing one another across one of the meal tables one evening arguing the merits and drawbacks of the options in metals and forging methods long into the night. It had made the human's heart glow with pride that something he had come up with was worth the time of such experienced and exceptional Makers. He had never been a part of a school in which there had been highly skilled artisans who were passionate enough about their craft to fight, however gracefully and respectfully, for their opinions. There was no Runesmith's guild in Kalzasi, or, he imagined, enough people who followed the craft to make up such an establishment anywhere outside of Sol'Valen. To his astonishment and delight, his newborn acceptance as a competent craftsman meant that his projects were not only discussed, but often checked up on. Not in the way of a master checking up on an apprentice (though the masters did check up on him and expected exacting answers standards during their inspections) but from interest and curiosity.
The few times he was brave enough to wander over to another apprentice's workstation while taking a few minutes to stretch his legs, no one had objected. The friendlier ones had even answered his tentative questions. The school was a place to learn and share but every Runeforger had their secrets and private methods and Torin was too happy with his tentative level of acceptance to pry when he sensed resistance. He was a guest, not a member of the school. It hurt a little, knowing that he would never be a real part of such a thing, but it was still an honor and a privilege to be allowed a temporary stay.
By the end of the late argument between the two most invested in his project, it was agreed upon by the two elders (and not disagreed with by Torin in the least) that Manasilver should be used (according to one of the elves Must be used) to achieve the intended outcome. It would allow the other ingredients used to remain malleable without the enchantments losing stability over time. Torin's plan to use various fabrics, or, the idea of them (it was complicated) would require that flexibility in the magic even after it was set, if he didn't want the quality of what was presented to degrade over time. These concepts were not new to Torin but it was the first time he was being presented with them in a real setting. He had read about them in books, but humans did not often think of items in terms of hundreds or thousands of years of use. Runeforged items could last for generations, passed down from one to the next, but the enchantments were usually the sort that kept swords eternally sharp, or armor impenetrable. More complex magic had a way of twisting apart, falling in on itself to fail if you were lucky. If you were not lucky, the enchantments could change over time into entirely different ones as one part of the spells was lost or diminished.
The ideas existed more commonly in Scrivening: If a Scrivener was careless, another could come after them and scratch out or destroy one or more sigils to change the meaning of the aetheric phrases. This could even happen accidentally as a work of Scrivening worn down over time. This was why all Scriveners were taught to Close the Circle; to write in such a way that the aether would do only what was intended and if it was not able to do that, it would dissipate harmlessly back into the world. Thankfully, Torin's Scrivening training was now almost as advanced as his Runeforging, so the idea fit easily into his understanding. Briefly, he worried about his Runeforged works, wondering if someday, long after he was dead, any of them would degrade and harm the people who relied on them. It was something to think about later, when he could do something about it. Assuming there was anything that could be done about it.
Tavárinoikos had myriad contacts where sourcing the finest materials was concerned, so Torin was able to obtain enough of the highly sought-after metal to work the physically small creation he had planned. It was an odd substance, liquid in its pure form, only gaining solidity when it was infused with enough magic. This would mean doing the metal work alongside the Runeforging, a tricky proposition even when only using non-magical metals. The apprentice that had insisted on its use had significant experience and required only a little persuading and offering of work in trade to convince him to teach Torin how to work with the Manasilver and aid him during the actual creation.
The fabric he needed had to be Spellcloth, there was no other possible way it could be incorporated into the creation. He would not need much of any one piece, but he needed at least a few yards of many different kinds of fabric woven into Spellcloth. The undertaking was significant and it took him days to find a weaver who was both able and willing to make him what he would need. Once the fabrics were crafted he would need mages to enchant them, or Mage, singular, specific. Aurin had done the enchantment Torin needed on the Cloaks of Comfort as well as Lady Kala's Cloak of Concealment. It would mean importing his lover off and on for about a month, which would require paperwork. But the school was on his side now, and even a few of the masters seemed interested in how his final product would turn out, if, he suspected, partly because they expected him to fail and wanted to see how. Whatever their motivations, they provided the required paperwork needed for a visit from the redheaded fox. If Aurin couldn't make it, Torin could explain the spells needed to another Master of Masquerade, but the final product would be inevitably altered.
The need for Aetherite was inevitable, Viscerite would be needed in abundance at every stage of the crafting. The apprentice who was assisting him with the Manasilver explained that a small shard of Metallurium would be essential to forming the finicky metal and holding its shape before it solidified. Then there was the Mnemonosyte, the heart of the intended creation, without it, there would be no storage for the endless possibilities and no way to access them or control the device's other abilities. All of these could be found in Sol'Valen, for a price. It was a wonder to be in an ancient city where such strong magic was available for purchase. Torin prefered to source his dragonshards himself, when he was able, but such opportunities were sadly rare and he wanted as much time with the shards as he could get before he worked with them. Once purchased he kept them on his person, or within arms reach, at all times, even when he slept. Knowing your materials was vital in any craft, in Runeforging, it meant the difference between a wonder of creation and, destruction, sometimes, even death.
Mnemonosyte had been used in his very first original creation, it had been with him when he stepped from an apprentice into a journeyman and it held a special place in his mind. Being the mind-shard, this was apt, and, perhaps, in a certain light, poetic. Torin was no poet, the beauty he wrought was practical, to a purpose, and while some of his work might inspire awe in those who understood it, none of it would ever be performed before an audience for applause. At least, he never imagined any such thing. He was a hammer, an anvil, a forge; he made tools to be used. Even the delicate little trinket he was pouring his thought and energy into now, was a tool.
While he awaited the creation of his Spellcloth he worked assisting the other apprentices whose help he would need, studying any texts the school would allow him to lay hands on, and endlessly returning to his schema; updating, tweaking and worrying at it until neither he himself nor any of those willing to help could find anything else to adjust or argue over. There was no such thing as perfect, even the elves of Sol'Valen would not claim so, but it was as close as could be managed by mortal minds. It would not change the world, or even make it a better place in any real way, but it was good, in itself. A thing well made was as good as perfect to the one who needed it, his old master had used to say, and Torin had believed him. That belief carried him through the long nights of waiting to begin. The belief, and Sivan, who, in various ways, always managed to distract, relax, or exhaust him (or all three) to sleep each night.