85th Searing 124
The spell cloth had arrived, swatches of two dozen varieties and a spell weaver that had stuck around while Torin examined them as though expecting him to choose one for a larger order. Unfortunately for the expert craftsman, little bits of many different fabrics were exactly what the smith needed. The swatches were the last of the items he had been waiting on. The dragonshards had been sourced and purchased by the school, albeit with his money, the Manasilver had been in for more than a month, allowing him the time to learn the difficult art of Blacksmithing it.
Now the work could begin. There was preliminary work to be done before the Runeforging would truly, start creating the viscerite, preparing the fabric swatches to be transmuted into aetheric representations of themselves, smithing and then Scrivening each piece of the metal cage that would eventually be brought together to form the physical structure of the device. But all of this was a part of the 'Forging, in Torin's mind, none more or less important than any other.
Creating the viscerite would usually have been the simplest, and quickest part of any Runeforged project for someone as experienced as he was, but the way he had been taught, had always used, differed from that which was used at Tavárinoikos. When the elves who were overseeing his work saw this they stopped him and made him begin again, thankfully, this had happened early enough in the process that the Aetherite to be used had not yet been implemented. Torin was happy to learn a new way, and since he needed to break down several shards he was able to practice the new method several times. The elves made him go slowly, to get it perfectly, stepping it to do some parts for him the first time. Tavárinoikos would not allow the wasting of materials as precious as dragonshards, even the most common type was not a common thing.
While the viscerite was melting, and later, while it was cooling, Torin laid the cloth over the Runeforger's bench that he had been assigned. It wasn't the same as the ones he had at home, the make was a little different the design parallel but altered from the one he had made with Kala. The differences were fascinating and he had taken the time to find them and then ask why. The elven apprentices had not understood at first, having only ever worked with their version of the benches, but once he had drawn out his design, they had gone to their masters and come back with answers about aether flow and the organization of the Scrivened runes. The differences were something else he'd had to adjust to, but all the time he had been forced to do apprentice and then journeymen level work to prove his ability had instilled in him an understanding that, while not as instinctive as the one he had for his own tools, would not slow him down.
With this understanding and the set of tools that he had brought with him from Kalzasi, he began carefully inscribing runes into each piece of fabric, setting up the aether lines that would, when activated in the correct environment, allow them to become an aetheric echo of themselves that could be absorbed into the enchantment on the device and used as strong anchors for the Masquerade illusions that would be laid into it. The work was intricate and time-consuming but repetitive, with no need to reset his thought process between pieces. It reminded him of all the time he had spent studying under, and then alongside Kala.
Then came the creation of the four filigree Manasilver sides of the almost cube that would form the main structure of the device. The sides would be carefully rounded off when they were forged into a single, solid whole, simply because it would make it prettier than a plain cube shape, at least to Torin's tastes. It was also more difficult, from a Blacksmithing point of view, and therefore less likely to offend its royal recipient. He knew nothing about the one who was to receive it, but he had spent some time studying Sol'Valen royal architecture and fashions in both furnishings and clothing, in preparation for this task. It seemed wiser to have at least a basic idea of what was considered attractive and what was considered gauche in the upper echelons of the elven society. Sivan had helped in this regard more than the Tavárinoikos apprentices because he had also spent a significant enough time outside of Sol'Valen to understand Torin's questions.
The elves seemed to have difficulty understanding that things could be done a different way elsewhere and when they did understand this concept they seemed to be immediately and strongly convinced that while other races might do things in ways other than their own, they were inevitably inferior and could be dismissed. The attitude was not a problem when discussing arbitrary things such as fashion (even if they seemed offended at the idea), but when Torin tried to explain anything associated with their shared crafts that he considered even slightly better, or equal to the methods the elves used their reactions were not pleasant. They weren't unfriendly, not by the time Torin had begun work on the Princess' order, but they either seemed to think it was making a joke or became gently condescending, as one would a child who tried to tell you that two and two were twenty-two. The human was used to being seen as young in the eyes of others but it had been a long time since those he viewed as peers had talked down to him so blatantly.
This treatment, unexpected in people who had, with a little effort on Torin's part, treated him as a fellow. It caused to rise in him an emotion he hadn't ever felt before. The desire to excel had existed in him as long as he could remember but the fuel for the emotion had always been a fear of failure, the desire not to disappoint. Now, something else lit this fire; belief in himself.
That night, when he had laid in his apartment with Sivan this feeling had been so warm in his chest, so stunning in his mind that he had made such requests as he rarely did, and performed when granted permission, in a manner that was new to both of them. He was not harsh or demanding, but he was thorough in showing just how deep his knowledge and skill went in regard to his lover specifically. The next day he returned to the forge with a renewed vigor for the work that seemed to imply the opposite of him having spent half the night in wakeful, vigorous activity.
This was when he began the final forging of the Manasilver, when he formed the intricate whirls and fissures that came together with a level of ability and confidence that the elves of Tavárinoikos had not yet seen. The metal seemed to come together as though its will were moving to match his own and the final product, when at the end of a grueling but elating day, it was done, was magnificent.
The elven apprentices had watched him in fits and starts throughout the day, but in the final hour, as he brought all the pieces together into a gleaming, perfect whole, the ones who had been helping him and even some who had shown no previous interest in his work, had gathered round. They spoke quietly at first, commenting on what he did in their native language, which he had no mental energy to spare in interpreting, then in silence. When he laid the Manasilver box, easily fitting into the palm of one hand, down on the cool anvil, the light of the magical lamps curled over the polished surface, following the swirls and patterns in as though it caressed the trinket. The silence held for a long moment before one of the apprentices realized what he was seeing and began murmuring to his fellows.
The original plans, which most of them were familiar with by then, had called for the filigree patterns only as decoration and for Torin to Scriven the insides of the box after he had finished each side. But this he had not done, and now they could see why. The patterns themselves were made up of hundreds of diminutive versions of the Scrivening runes that had been prepared for the box's design. The piece was in itself a dictation of intent, aether flowing over and through it to its purpose even before it entered the Runeforge.
The human turned to the gathered elves and, one by one, met their eyes. Some met his in return, acknowledging him with a nod, others turned away in prideful distaste, others still looked confused, even a little awed. But none were laughing at him and none looked even slightly like they wanted to pat him on the head.
The spell cloth had arrived, swatches of two dozen varieties and a spell weaver that had stuck around while Torin examined them as though expecting him to choose one for a larger order. Unfortunately for the expert craftsman, little bits of many different fabrics were exactly what the smith needed. The swatches were the last of the items he had been waiting on. The dragonshards had been sourced and purchased by the school, albeit with his money, the Manasilver had been in for more than a month, allowing him the time to learn the difficult art of Blacksmithing it.
Now the work could begin. There was preliminary work to be done before the Runeforging would truly, start creating the viscerite, preparing the fabric swatches to be transmuted into aetheric representations of themselves, smithing and then Scrivening each piece of the metal cage that would eventually be brought together to form the physical structure of the device. But all of this was a part of the 'Forging, in Torin's mind, none more or less important than any other.
Creating the viscerite would usually have been the simplest, and quickest part of any Runeforged project for someone as experienced as he was, but the way he had been taught, had always used, differed from that which was used at Tavárinoikos. When the elves who were overseeing his work saw this they stopped him and made him begin again, thankfully, this had happened early enough in the process that the Aetherite to be used had not yet been implemented. Torin was happy to learn a new way, and since he needed to break down several shards he was able to practice the new method several times. The elves made him go slowly, to get it perfectly, stepping it to do some parts for him the first time. Tavárinoikos would not allow the wasting of materials as precious as dragonshards, even the most common type was not a common thing.
While the viscerite was melting, and later, while it was cooling, Torin laid the cloth over the Runeforger's bench that he had been assigned. It wasn't the same as the ones he had at home, the make was a little different the design parallel but altered from the one he had made with Kala. The differences were fascinating and he had taken the time to find them and then ask why. The elven apprentices had not understood at first, having only ever worked with their version of the benches, but once he had drawn out his design, they had gone to their masters and come back with answers about aether flow and the organization of the Scrivened runes. The differences were something else he'd had to adjust to, but all the time he had been forced to do apprentice and then journeymen level work to prove his ability had instilled in him an understanding that, while not as instinctive as the one he had for his own tools, would not slow him down.
With this understanding and the set of tools that he had brought with him from Kalzasi, he began carefully inscribing runes into each piece of fabric, setting up the aether lines that would, when activated in the correct environment, allow them to become an aetheric echo of themselves that could be absorbed into the enchantment on the device and used as strong anchors for the Masquerade illusions that would be laid into it. The work was intricate and time-consuming but repetitive, with no need to reset his thought process between pieces. It reminded him of all the time he had spent studying under, and then alongside Kala.
Then came the creation of the four filigree Manasilver sides of the almost cube that would form the main structure of the device. The sides would be carefully rounded off when they were forged into a single, solid whole, simply because it would make it prettier than a plain cube shape, at least to Torin's tastes. It was also more difficult, from a Blacksmithing point of view, and therefore less likely to offend its royal recipient. He knew nothing about the one who was to receive it, but he had spent some time studying Sol'Valen royal architecture and fashions in both furnishings and clothing, in preparation for this task. It seemed wiser to have at least a basic idea of what was considered attractive and what was considered gauche in the upper echelons of the elven society. Sivan had helped in this regard more than the Tavárinoikos apprentices because he had also spent a significant enough time outside of Sol'Valen to understand Torin's questions.
The elves seemed to have difficulty understanding that things could be done a different way elsewhere and when they did understand this concept they seemed to be immediately and strongly convinced that while other races might do things in ways other than their own, they were inevitably inferior and could be dismissed. The attitude was not a problem when discussing arbitrary things such as fashion (even if they seemed offended at the idea), but when Torin tried to explain anything associated with their shared crafts that he considered even slightly better, or equal to the methods the elves used their reactions were not pleasant. They weren't unfriendly, not by the time Torin had begun work on the Princess' order, but they either seemed to think it was making a joke or became gently condescending, as one would a child who tried to tell you that two and two were twenty-two. The human was used to being seen as young in the eyes of others but it had been a long time since those he viewed as peers had talked down to him so blatantly.
This treatment, unexpected in people who had, with a little effort on Torin's part, treated him as a fellow. It caused to rise in him an emotion he hadn't ever felt before. The desire to excel had existed in him as long as he could remember but the fuel for the emotion had always been a fear of failure, the desire not to disappoint. Now, something else lit this fire; belief in himself.
That night, when he had laid in his apartment with Sivan this feeling had been so warm in his chest, so stunning in his mind that he had made such requests as he rarely did, and performed when granted permission, in a manner that was new to both of them. He was not harsh or demanding, but he was thorough in showing just how deep his knowledge and skill went in regard to his lover specifically. The next day he returned to the forge with a renewed vigor for the work that seemed to imply the opposite of him having spent half the night in wakeful, vigorous activity.
This was when he began the final forging of the Manasilver, when he formed the intricate whirls and fissures that came together with a level of ability and confidence that the elves of Tavárinoikos had not yet seen. The metal seemed to come together as though its will were moving to match his own and the final product, when at the end of a grueling but elating day, it was done, was magnificent.
The elven apprentices had watched him in fits and starts throughout the day, but in the final hour, as he brought all the pieces together into a gleaming, perfect whole, the ones who had been helping him and even some who had shown no previous interest in his work, had gathered round. They spoke quietly at first, commenting on what he did in their native language, which he had no mental energy to spare in interpreting, then in silence. When he laid the Manasilver box, easily fitting into the palm of one hand, down on the cool anvil, the light of the magical lamps curled over the polished surface, following the swirls and patterns in as though it caressed the trinket. The silence held for a long moment before one of the apprentices realized what he was seeing and began murmuring to his fellows.
The original plans, which most of them were familiar with by then, had called for the filigree patterns only as decoration and for Torin to Scriven the insides of the box after he had finished each side. But this he had not done, and now they could see why. The patterns themselves were made up of hundreds of diminutive versions of the Scrivening runes that had been prepared for the box's design. The piece was in itself a dictation of intent, aether flowing over and through it to its purpose even before it entered the Runeforge.
The human turned to the gathered elves and, one by one, met their eyes. Some met his in return, acknowledging him with a nod, others turned away in prideful distaste, others still looked confused, even a little awed. But none were laughing at him and none looked even slightly like they wanted to pat him on the head.