80th of Frost, 120xx
Seventeen new items. Seventeen. And every single one of them still in horrible condition. It wasn't anyones fault, they'd arrived that way, but her entire restorations and investigation team had been working overtime for the past week just getting them all carefully pieced back together.
They were pots, having been used to store grotesque and horrible concoctions from necromancers past, they were a piece of history once thought to be lost. They'd be a simple display on their own, but in that simplicity were miles of room for creativity. Would she perhaps stage elaborate visuals of necromancers using them? Set up an entire room to appear as though it had been used by the mages? Or perhaps have magic woven in the glue that would hold them together, and make each piece break and mold itself back together in front of the viewer?
So many options, and so little time to decide.
"Lad-d-dy Eloeth?" Kikku's voice chimed in. Mae turned her head from the table she leaned over in the restoration lab, pulling the small glasses up from her nose and placing them delicately atop her head.
"What is it, Kikku?" She asked, annoyance lacing her tongue like a poison. It didn't phase him, he was so used to her ever-bitter personality that it was actually her silence that unnerved him the most. Whenever her eyes died, that was when danger was near. And most employees knew that by now.
"Gallagher is he-er-re. Shall I sen-n-n-d him to your off-f-f-ice?"
Her expression instantly softened. Her shoulders relaxed. And Kikku could have sworn he'd seen a tiny smile pull at the corner of her lips. "Yes, don't keep my friend waiting." And probably her only one, if she was being honest. Kikku bowed and rushed off to complete his task.
Meanwhile, Mae made her way to her office. The hallways of the upper floor of the Elysian Halls were nothing like the bottom floor. Up top, the same white marble and gold and silver decorative walls reflected the afternoon sunlight like the celestial heavens. It contrasted Mae's dark purple dress and pitch black hair as she sauntered down the aisles of tall stone columns and paintings of each member of the Antiquities society. When she finally arrived at her office, the centermost room in the hallway, she began preparing for Gallaghers visit. Paperwork, for sure, as well as refreshments from her personal wine collection.
Moments later a knock sounded at the door and her guest was announced. She turned, and there stood Gallagher. A short, tubby dwarven man with a long mustache and sun-damaged skin from long days mining and collecting in his youth. Now nearly on his deathbed, the man had a tremor to his hands that betrayed the glint of life in his eyes. He wore a shabby, humble cream wool jacket and black slacks. The stench of cleansers and medical equipment followed him, telling story of the meticulous ways he kept his own collection. And tucked under his right arm a small wooden box was grasped with a freckled, wrinkled hand. Mae smiled tenderly at him, the first curl of her lips in the past month, one unfamiliar to her face but to Gallagher, a welcome treat.
"Gally, it's wonderful to see you. Please, sit. I've already pulled out your favorite red." She gestured to a set of plush velvet couches separate from her desk with an articulated table in between the two seats. But she took her seat next to him as he hobbled his way over with a grunt.
"Ah, yes, thank you, Mae." He cleared his throat and pulled a tissue from his pocket, then wiped away the moisture that leaked from his nose from the chill outside. When he finally sat down he groaned loudly as his knees popped and placed the box on the table in front of them. "I hope Frost has been treating you well, my dear. It's been awfully long one, the God's have certainly had their fun with our harvests."
Mae nodded and handed the man the glass of red wine. It had been warmed, much to his liking. Not a usual thing one did to their wine, but it was an old habit he'd picked up from drinking warm wine in the season of Searing when he used to mine even through the night. After all, some artifacts could only be found under moonlight.
"Yes, it's been quite cold. What brings you in today, Gally? Had I known you were coming I'd have sent my carriage for you." She picked up her own glass and took a sip. Grapes, apples, pear, herbs, and at the end a quick peppered warmth that stung your tongue.
"Ahh, don't worry about it. These old bones need their exercise. But, I came to donate some old pieces. I never got around to figuring out what they were, but..." He reached forward, hands trembling with years of hard labor, and flicked the latch open. As the top rose up it revealed seven separate chunks of metal, each one a different color and different material, but all with their own interesting uniqueness.
"These shards. I'll admit, I don't even remember where I got some of them, but it's been so long and I'd needed to thin out my collection since I'm moving to a smaller home. I was hoping you could find some use for them here, or in your own collection." His voice was gruff, strained, but kind as he took another sip of his warmed wine.
Mae had raised her brows. "A donation? You're too kind." Her eyes traveled to the shards, and she began picking them up one by one to inspect their designs. All were seemingly just scraps of old weapons, though some held some old languages or pictographs on their surfaces under rough rust that crept around their form. All but one. A fragment of black metal, dark as obsidian itself, and sharp to the touch. Not a single spec of rust could be found on it's cold surface, and it nearly reflected Mae's face right back at her. "These are stunning, Gally, given the type of metal used in these, it seems most are from the last war. But this black one... it's much older... perhaps as old as the Sundering.."
She placed it back down into the box, intrigued, before turning once more to Gallagher and looking into his hazed, nearly blind eyes. They spoke of history, of time, of when he was a boy and had all the strength to find his own artifacts. And of how now, he was pained in every movement. He could no longer scale mountainsides or take pickaxe to stone, or even bend down to brush dirt away from bone buried in sand. Now, he barely had the energy to simply walk across town and clean his own artifacts. A few hours later Mae placed her empty wine glass upon the table.
"I'll send you home in my carriage, the roads are still icy from last weeks storm. It's the least I can do for your trouble." She smiled weakly. He had been such a bright, bubbling man when she was a child. A family friend named godfather, a once proud, famous artifact collector and miner who had discovered some of the museums most treasured historical artifacts over the years even before Mae had taken over, before she was born. But time had carved itself into his skin as deep wrinkles, burned itself by the sun, and left the man a shadow of who he once was. She could tell, he didn't have much time left. Perhaps a year, maybe two, at the most. And he knew it too.
Gallagher chuckled lightly, and took her soft, supple hand in his own. His calloused hands patted the tops of hers. "You are too kind, my Mae. Do let me know what all comes of these shards, I'd love to learn of their true histories." He stated simply and stood with a grunt. His hands let go of hers as he reached and took the last swig of warm wine, leaving a tiny drop in it's glass before sighing. She placed a hand on his back and gently lead him to the door. Before opening it, she bent down and wrapped her delicate arms around his shoulders. He smiled, blinking away the memory of a small bubbly girl with tight pigtails and crooked teeth. A tear threatened his vision. His arms spread across her back and he sighed contently.
"The city may think you a rose, but I think you a lily. Don't be afraid to cut your thorns off, my child."
