Little Shop of Bad Ideas [Lyra]

[Fawn]

Oh, You Sweet Summer Child.

31st of Frost, 120

Fawn chuffed at her, eyebrow raised. "I'm not that little." She said, raising her head up as if to demonstrate just how 'not little' she was. It didn't help her case, as she still stood much shorter than the mage in front of her even with her voluminous hair giving her at least another inch or two. The mage, by contrast was tall, elegant, and even with the snake perched on her shoulder still drew the farmgirls curiosity and interest. If Fawn had a tail it would have been wagging as she followed Lyra through the shop once more. This time, though, behind the desk. She watched in awe as magic woven into the building itself allowed them up a flight of stairs and up to a mysteriously simple dwelling.

Her mouth agape the girl set her bag on one of the chairs at the table, but she didn't sit. Instead she walked around the room, peering past each door as she moved from floorboard to floorboard and letting out a soft, impressed whistle. Her turn around the room ended as she came up behind Lyra and peered up at what she was doing, eyes flicking between her hands and face while a curious smile crept up into her lips. The woman's work was positively fascinating. She'd heard of inlaid gems before through Marina, but seeing them in person... it was an entirely novel experience that quickened her heart with excitement. She couldn't wait to start learning magic.

"Do you know anyone who can teach me magic?" She asked, only then returning to the table and listening to what should have been a command. She stretched her feet out in front of her and began to unwrap the bandage as told. As the gentle fabric came off her hand she winced lightly and poked at the cut, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. It was odd, really. The bleeding had stopped and seemed content to stay inside her veins, but the pain still radiated throughout her palm.
She looked up at the vial as it was placed in front of her. Was this the ointment? Or was it medicine? Was she supposed to drink it? The girl picked it up with her uninjured left hand, brought it to her nose, and sniffed lightly. But she instantly recoiled and her faced contorted into one of disgust.

"I'm not supposed to drink this, am I?" She asked. Truth be told she'd only ever used basic ointments as a kid whenever she got scraped up. But even that was rare, as most of the time 'a little bit of dirt will do the trick' had always been the go-to remedy. She hadn't ever scarred from that sort of fix, and so she figured it had always worked. But she'd also never had her hand sliced open before.
The girl sniffed it once more, then peered into it with one closed eye and sneered at it's strange color and texture. "It looks like a soup made out of grass." She stated, peering up at the woman from her seat and suddenly laughing out loud as she imagined the cold woman foraging for grass like a horse in pasture.

[Theme Song]

[Lyra]

Lyra glanced over her shoulder at the peculiar question, one eyebrow raised.

"If you drink that you will find yourself retching blood." She said simply. It wasn't a complete lie, it would cause spotting as the substance was harsh on the throat, and she suspected it would make the girl nauseous. She didn't elaborate, however, and let the warning hang there in the air.

From a top cabinet, Lyra took down two simple teacups. One was cracked. She divided the contents she had been grinding into each cup evenly, setting one in front of Fawn and putting the other, cracked cup near the other chair for herself. Lyra then moved beside Fawn, extending one hand to wordlessly ask to see her damaged palm. If she were given the hand, Lyra would lean forward, examining the cut as she hadn't before.

"It is topical. Infused birch bark mixed with bluefin extract. Together they create a topical salve that numbs and reduces pain in simple wounds like cuts, though it is temporary and does not protect against rot." Releasing the hand Lyra took the vial and tilted it, letting the thick viscous substance drip onto Fawn's palm, "Rub that in slowly."

Once more Lyra walked away, picking up the now boiling teapot and carrying it along with a thick mesh strainer with her. She then poured the tea through the strainer, moving the pot in slow circular motions until the cup was a little more than halfway full. She did the same for her own cup before setting the pot down on a prepared stand at the center of the table.

"Let the herbs steep for a time. If you don't it will be nearly undrinkable. I have no method of sweetening the tea, as is the custom of this place so you will simply have to make do." As for herself Lyra took the tea and took a long sip herself. She barely had a sense of taste, unfortunately, but she could feel the effects. She borrowed a note from Jacun's book and prepared the tea using aether rich ingredients, which gave a calm and rejuvenating feeling as it flowed down the throat. Even Lyra could appreciate that much.

"Why do you wish to learn magic?"

Goldeyes locked on Fawn then. She had not forgotten the question, and admittedly Lyra was mildly curious. She took another long sip as she awaited the woman's answer.

[Fawn]

Oh, You Sweet Summer Child.

31st of Frost, 120

Her expression turned from one of amusement to fondness. It was simply the mages humor, she realized. While still cold, and a warning, it was laced with such a subtle humor that could have only come from someone like her. She smiled to herself as the woman returned to the table and extended her hand without much thought. Her movements were easy to follow, her intent rather obvious even if she didn't speak much, and there was a comfort in the woman's silence.

Her voice, when she did speak, was like a riddle. Cold at first, almost deceptively so, but if you listened closely and focused you'd hear the care. You'd feel it. "Ah, well, good to know." She said, letting the woman drip the strange liquid onto her palm before beginning to slowly run two fingers through the substance and around her palm. She focused on the main gash, but spread the paste as it evaporated into the smaller cuts that lined the edges of her palm. It had stung at first but rather quickly like wind over water the pain cooled to a dull ache, and then finally to a soft numb. The girl flexed her hand, marveling in wonder with wide eyes at how well the ointment had worked, no matter how strange it had looked.

"That's amazing!" She exclaimed, as wide, crystalline eyes met the woman's.

"I'm Fawn, by the way. Thank you for your hospitality." The girl took her cup in hand, hoping the natural flow to conversation would lead the woman to revealing her own name. As she glanced down at the cup of tea, it's colors slowly deepening, she thought carefully.
"Why magic?" She questioned, softly, as if to herself while a strand of copper curls fell over her brow. She brushed it back, then reached into the breast of her dress and pulled from it a necklace. It's chain was simple yet elegant, a few small quartz beads that were strung near it's center where a silver and black ring was held. Along the outside edges, fifteen evenly spaced diamond shaped raised designs lined a black inset of hand carved pictographs. Each different from the last, and every single one lined between one of the diamond borders. From far away it may just look like a simple, silver and black ring on a chain. And to Fawn perhaps, aside from her only clue of her birthmother, that's all it had ever been.

But for Lyra, it was a memory. A memory that called out to her, long forgotten, foggy, still barely more than a ghost of a name she had forgotten in the chaos of time. Between the redheads pale, freckled fingers, it nearly glimmered at the woman across the table as if begging to be remembered. Screaming. Whispering.

As she fidgeted, the girl smiled fondly. Her own memory and emotions came stirring into her mind as an answer to Lyra's question, and with barely more than a whisper the girl spoke her truth softly into the steam of the tea cup. "When I was growing up, I thought the reason I was put on this earth was to survive. To milk goats, to catch horses, to deliver eggs. I spent every day on my farm happy and content. My family was good to me, even though we do not share blood, and I had many friends. But then one day, a woman came to me. It was then I saw magic for the first time, and like a butterfly upon a gust of wind she tore the breath straight from my lungs. In that moments after, where I had forgotten to breathe I realized- that was living." Fawn finally looked up from her cup and met Lyra's eyes. "I want to understand the threads of existence. I want to feel aether as strongly as I see it, and I want to find out who I am. Because I am not destined to be a farm girl, and if I am then hell, I'll change that." Her final words, though she chuckled through the last of them, held such conviction you'd swear she'd already done it.

[Theme Song]

[Lyra]

"Lyra." The reply was a simple one directed at the implied question.

Youth always seemed so fascinated by magic. Lyra herself had been that way, long long ago. The wonder of it, the ability to twist and bend the rules of the world to fit the vision you held. It was admittedly intoxicating. That power, however, always came with a price. A price of blood, a price of time, or sometimes a price so large that you could never have hoped to repay it. Sometimes it was not you who paid that price. This one likely had similar, naive notions, and that was why she sought after what she thought was some wonderful gift. There was no such thing as a gift in the world of magic. Simply give and take.

When Fawn revealed the necklace Lyra barely paid it any mind until her eyes traced over its surface and the designs carved there. She focused then, gaze intent as she studied the item. The more she stared the more she felt... something. Something deep in the pits of her mind, or someplace outside of it. A memory, a thought, a...

Lyra blinked, realizing she had instinctually reached for the necklace. With some effort, she pulled her hand back, though her eyes remained locked on the necklace, a shudder passing through her very soul. She barely heard the story that Fawn told, and when she finished Lyra glanced up from the necklace to find Fawn's gaze once more. Silence then, during which Lyra completely forgot about her tea. She heard it. The whispers, calling to her, pulling her.

"It is... a curious tale." Lyra said slowly, her voice shifting slightly to something softer, almost kind yet her eyes grew fierce as she looked at the necklace. She felt an urge but fought it back. When she looked back up to Fawn she smiled, the gesture not quite reaching her eyes, "Can I see that trinket?"

[Fawn]

Oh, You Sweet Summer Child.

31st of Frost, 120

There were two reasons behind Fawn's hesitations. Firstly, her necklace was just that. Hers. It was perhaps the only thing that Fawn valued more than her own life, as simple as it's design was. She'd probably spun it around a couple thousand times in her years of fidgeting, but never had someone asked to see it, or seemed interested at all in anything she'd worn. Secondly, was Lyra's expression. So far the woman had been cold, albeit still kind, but she hadn't felt as though the woman was dishonest with any of her gestures or expressions or words up until that very moment. It felt off, wrong.

But why? The very question she'd asked when she came across anything she didn't understand. And it was for that question, that reason, that even with hesitation the girl reached behind her neck and began to undo the clap for the first time in years. She'd slept with it, bathed in it, hell at this point there isn't anything she hadn't let the necklace experience with her. So as she took it off, slipping the chain across each side of her neck and outstretching the piece to Lyra, she felt truly naked.

"Just... be careful with it..." She said softly. Worry crossed her brow as she dropped it carefully into the woman's hand and retreated her own to the steaming up. It wasn't like it would break in someone's hands, the thing had lived through countless falls off horses and scuffles with town kids. But still, her fingers fidgeted now with the rim of the cup as she took her first sip. Nervous, she swallowed it down and followed it with another.

"It's nothing expensive, but it was with me when my mother found me in the barn as a baby. It's all I have left of my birth family." She smiled, but much like Lyra it did not reach her eyes. Instead concern, recollection, curiosity, worry- all things that flashed through her mind as memories of her childhood came rushing back. She could hear adults whispering around her as a child, asking if she knows her real parents abandoned her. If she would ever be truly happy without knowing her real family. They weren't mocking, but worried. Even her adoptive parents had concerns of how that knowledge would affect her, if she would love them even if she wasn't their blood. Perhaps that was why the girl had grown up with every intention to be happy. To assure her mother and father that she was okay, that she loved them. She wouldn't let her tears or hardships be placed on the blame of her birth parents, that was for sure.

Fawn sipped once more, sighing and gulping down her past with it. As the warmth hit her stomach she pulled the fond smile up to her eyes and licked a small bead of tea from the rim of the glass, watching Lyra intently as she handled her necklace.

[Theme Song]

[Paragon]

Lyra’s fingers brushed over the smooth surface of the necklace. The black stone was worn and weathered by the touch of time and the fond caress of fingers. How many times had it been lovingly thumbed? Hundreds? Thousands? Even so, the etchings on the surface of the obsidian rock were still discernible. This was something old, something forgotten...something familiar.

As Lyra lifted her eyes to return her gaze to the troublesome girl, the world gently shifted. No longer did Lyra stand within the quiet room of her shop. The Plaza of Jeweled Arches faded and the noise of the bustling city became a distant roar until it was silenced completely. The skies were a clear blue of such pristine quality it was almost jarring. Before Lyra there stretched not the mountainous landscape of Karnor but trees that seemed greener, healthier, and infused with such a raw force of life it was breathtaking. The winds almost seemed to hum softly, lulling Lyra into a blanket of comfort that had been lost for eons.

In the distance there stood a city of verdant emerald green, with silver towers that carefully spun themselves around trees with golden leaves all limned with sunlight. Music like silver bells that was laced with the purity of true Vallenor echoed softly in the skies. This was the world as it had once been. This was a world that no longer existed.

“Lana!” A familiar voice, one know to her but one also...forgotten? Lost? This was someone warm. Someone close. The voice stirred comfort as the sight of a golden haired girl came into view. Her smile was bright. Her eyes filled with the whimsy of Spring. She practically danced as she made her way toward Lyra. “There you are! We are going to be late!”

Sierra. The name came to Lyra and with it the ghost of a terrible longing mixed with the faded memory of something resembling happiness.

And just as softly as the memory had come, it very suddenly was gone. The shop returned. The warmth evaporated. The music of that old world vanished. All that was left was the cold air of the frozen Northlands and the aching memory of another place from another time.

For the briefest of moments, the obsidian stone of the necklace swirled with misty smoke before its surface returned to stillness. But there was something else there. A tether, unyielding and irreverent of such ancient memories. The symbols etched into the surface of the necklace were old. Older perhaps than the very city that Lyra stood in. This necklace was not Lyra’s...but it was tied to something that was. Touched by an echo of her, an echo that seemed inextricably linked to the red haired girl in front of her.

[Lyra]

Rough to the touch, worn and well used. Slightly warm from the girl's own body heat. It should not have been nothing more than a passing thought, uninteresting, a simple curiosity. Things were rarely what they should be, however, and Lyra drew in a breath as she ran a finger over the carved surface of the necklace.

Thoughts from long ago, words of a dead woman came to Lyra as she looked up at Fawn, but couldn't see her. Golden hair and a kind voice. Blue above and the scent of magic in the air as a wind eons past blew past her, ruffling her clothing and making her hold her papers closer to her chest, protectively. For a moment, a very brief moment, Lyra was not Lyra. She was not Lyrielle. She was Lana. The warmth of a time before history flooded her soul, and she was happy. She smiled, about to answer when the dream cracked and crumbled to dust around her.

Lyra stared across the table at the red-haired girl, a crushing sense of loss flooding her very being. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Her hand trembled slightly but with a sudden gasp, Lyra remembered, fought her way back. With a will of iron, she stoped her shaking hands, drawing in one slow breath before her eyes focused on the necklace once more.

She saw the faint traces of smoke just as they vanished, and instinctively her grip tightened on the necklace. Her eyes traced over each and every symbol then, the more she stared the more that she seemed to recognize, like a name just at the tip of her tongue.

"The one who gave you this," Lyra began, face once more neutral though her voice was slightly uneven, "Your family. What do you know of them?"

From the pocket of her robes, Lyra brought out a pair of aura glasses, slipping them on and examining the necklace closer. She traced the edges of several etchings with one long-nailed finger, not looking up as she asked, "What do you know of this necklace, and its history?"

[Fawn]

Oh, You Sweet Summer Child.

31st of Frost, 120

The strange, distracted expression on Lyra's face as she held the necklace sent a strange shiver down Fawn's own spine. Why she felt so uneasy she didn't know, but the way Lyra looked at the necklace like it was hers, like she wanted it, may have made the girl uneasy if she'd known Lyra more than a day. But as it was, the farmgirl sipped down her own worries and watched intently while the woman day dreamed. When she finally pulled herself from the haze of whatever she was in, speaking once more with cold eyes, Fawn couldn't miss the shake in her voice. Her brow raised, and she set the cup down on the table gently after taking in a rather large gulp of the tea. Her hand still ached.

"I..." She'd told the story before, no matter how brief, but this was the first time she felt someone truly wanted to know. Her words caught in her throat, suddenly pulling at the mystery of her own birth. She wanted to have more information for the woman, for herself, but as it had always been there was nothing. The girl sighed and shook her head, a small shrug to her shoulders as she leaned forward on the table and rested her freckled cheek in the palm of her uninjured hand.

"I couldn't begin to ken a thing- whoever my family was they dinna' keep me. The woman I call mother now found me when I was a wee bairn, all wrapped up in a basket in her barn. All she found on me was that there necklace, and some letter that got ruined by the snow. Haven't heard anythin' from anyone since. And no one in my home town has a history of red hair. So, I don't believe my birth parents came from it." Fawn stretched out further, laying her head down on her arm on the table and looking up to Lyra with bright eyes nearly as blue as gemstones themselves. Red locks spilled themselves over the wooden surface like lava over the earth. "Why do ye ask? Do ye ken of it?" She could tell, though she wanted to make sure, that the woman did know of it. Maybe not entirely but something in the woman's expression and the tremble in her voice at least told the girl she had recognized some part of it.

The hustle and bustle from the streets could still be heard below but Fawn at least had tuned it out completely, now as focused as a cat on the answer the woman would give. But then- the glasses. Her brow raised. They didn't seem like magnifying goggles or even protective smithy goggles. She lifted herself up from the table once more and almost seemed to sniff at the air as she gestured to the glasses on her face. "What are those?"

[Theme Song]

[Lyra]

It was like looking through foggy water. Muddled and indistinct, the flow of aether so confusing and twisted that Lyra had no way to parse through what it all meant. She could see some lines that seemed to form an impression, but as she stared the meaning vanished and she sighed in frustration.

Pointless. Lyra thought, snatching the glasses before barely catching herself before she slammed them angrily on the table. Instead, she laid them down gently, eyes still searching the peculiar necklace. There was something about this item, something which was linked to her, but she could not see it. Even the glyphs seemed as if they should be readable to her, but it was as if something blocked her sight even then. Lyra traced a nail over one glyph which seemed to say 'point' or perhaps 'direction'?

"So you mean you know nothing of this item, nor your parentage?" Lyra asked, rubbing a temple with a steadily calming expression. She glanced at the glasses she had set on the table, and added almost absently, "They are a device to let me see what I cannot normally see. Up until now, their use has been paramount, but today it seems they have met their match."

It was then Lyra realized that Fawn had stood and moved closer, and as if surprised Lyra stood and walked back toward the counter, necklace still in her palm as she leaned against the edge of the counter to study it once more. She was in quite the predicament. This was one of the most obvious clues to her past that had yet to present itself, but she could not so much as inspect it properly let alone glean any information from it. This girl as well, to have her simply walked into her shop and present such an item as this to her, Lyra could not help but question if it was truly a coincidence. Were the divine at work once again?

"What would you accept for this necklace?" Lyra asked suddenly, looking up to catch Fawn's eye. Her expression was serious as she continued, "Name your price, be it gold, magic or blood, and it will be yours."

[Fawn]

Oh, You Sweet Summer Child.

31st of Frost, 120

The air seemed to grow thick with anticipation. Something was off, she could smell it like the strange, sweet, ozone before an oncoming storm. Fawn chewed the inside of her lip, shrugging as a feeling of wariness set into her bones.

"Nothing. I wish I could say otherwise, but according to my adoptive mother, it seemed I was willfully abandoned." She tried, like always, not to think of why. Was it an abusive spouse? A sickness? An unplanned pregnancy? Was she unable to financially care for her? When she was a child she'd dreamt of her mother as a queen, or a goddess, destined to find her again and bring some great peace to the land- like all children do, though. But as she grew up the harsh reality that perhaps she was unwanted, or a bastard child, would slither through her mind threatening to disturb the peace she'd created there. It wasn't as if the truth of whoever her parents were would change her much, with all the luck in the world it was more realistic that she was simply a mistake in her mothers past, but that didn't mean she didn't think of it often. Wonder what she could have been, who she should have been, if given the chance to grow up with her birth parents.

But wishing only distracted one from their current life. Being upset with ones circumstances didn't change them, a fact she'd learned early on as she watched wolves hunt a rabbit. No matter the panic of the rabbit, it was still a rabbit. No matter how much it wished to not be hunted, it was still running for it's life. Fawn knew then not to dwell on what ifs, and solidified in her heart the idea that unless she could do something about it herself, worrying did nothing. And in that very thought she had planned to track down her mother some day. Because that is what she could do- even if the woman was dead by now, even if her father was no longer alive, it didn't matter. If she could find her lineage, she would be happy.

The girl slowly sat back down as Lyras face fell cold, serious, just as it had been since the moment she walked in the door but this time the seriousness was not masking anything. It simply was. She gulped.
"Are ye mad?" She questioned, as if she didn't believe what she was hearing and nearly scoffed at her. She didn't mean to, not so rudely at least, and quickly took a breath to calm herself. "I can't.. I won't." Fawn could tell it wouldn't be an agreeable answer, but she persisted and didn't wait for the woman to speak before continuing. "This is my only tie to me family- the only thing I've got. There isn't enough gold or magic in the world to make me give it up.." She looked to Lyra, who stood still much taller than her, and searched her eyes for any reason why she might be finding the necklace so valuable. Part of her worried the woman might just take it from her anyways, but it was a poisonous thought. One she quickly pushed from her mind as if reprimanding a child for ill behavior. No. She had to believe that Lyra, while a stranger, would not have such cruel intent.

[Theme Song]