[closed] forging bonds

[Talon]

12th of Frost, 119th Year of the Age of Steel

The ring of his hammer striking upon the surface of cold viscerite filled Talon’s ears. It had a very distinct sound, one that he had grown accustomed to over the years of working the runeforge. The sound of glass chimes mixed with the smell of ozone and a hint of sweet spices filled his senses. He held the rod on the anvil carefully using a pair of charged tongs specially made to handle primed objects. The hammer he was using was no ordinary one. The sparks that skittered across the surface of the rod were not that of fire and flame but of aether and magic. Those small flecks of power danced across the top of the aetherite anvil that he worked upon.

Talon took hold of his own aether and guided it to his eyes. He opened his senses up to that which could not be seen with the naked eye. Through Semblance he perceived the aura of the rod that he was striking. He could see that the aether within the rod was being pounded into a more dense concentration. There were uneven patches along the base of the rod. Talon struck his hammer there carefully, working to smooth out the flow of the aether as best he could. The clumps were slow to be pounded into place. One strike and the aether merely became charged. He could see the flare of power swell within his aether aided sight. The second strike of the hammer saw sparks dances across the surface of the anvil. The aether of the rod was primed to be eased into place. The third strike and he saw some give in the clump of aether in the rod.

Setting his hammer aside, Talon grabbed another pair of tongs and grasped along the shaft of the rod. The tongs touched upon the physical and aetherial as he grabbed the clump of aether, carefully tugging and pulling upon the flow. With as much care as he could, Talon slowly tugged on the aether so that it fell more tightly into place. He coaxed the raw essence of the tool he was shaping into following his desired flow instead of resting in the cluster that hovered in his sight. He set aside the tongs and picked up the hammer once more, still viewing the aura of the rod in order to guide his strikes with the utmost precision. He repeated the cycle of striking with the aether charged hammer and tugging, folding and coaxing with the tongs for many more minutes.

Slow was the work of a runeforger but Talon did not mind. This was a craft he could lose himself in. As he released his hold on his own aether, letting his eyes and the power of his rune rest, he moved one of the aura glass lenses into place so that he could continue. He retrieved a smaller hammer, one that was used to more precisely break up more stubborn clusters of aether in a gentle way. Talon rotated the rod so that he could view the distribution of aether throughout its structure more completely. There was still a considerable amount of uneven aether to be hammered into place across it but such was the way of it. He enjoyed the process of slowly getting the aetheric structure of an object into place before moving on to some of the more detailed parts of the process. This was perhaps one of the most straightforward parts of the forging as the steps were fairly cyclical.

It was as he was rotating the rod through the view of the aura glass that he heard the bell to the door of his shop let out its small chime.

Talon stood in the workshop below the main floor of his shop. His back was to the open staircase leading back up to the ground floor but he wasn’t worried. The sound of him working away at the runeforge was loud enough to be heard.

“Come in! Welcome! I’m just down the stairs! Please, come in!” Talon spoke over his shoulder. His voice carried over the ringing chimes of his work as he carefully hammered out another persistent cluster of messy aether. The smell of ozone and this time of sulfur made his nose wrinkle slightly.

When the sound of footsteps down the stairs reached his ears, Talon lifted the rod from the anvil to place it upon his workbench. There it could rest without the primed aether being disturbed and thus ruining his progress. He rolled his shoulders, flexing his silver wings and pulling off his work gloves as he turned to face his customer.

“Apologies, I was in the middle of a rather delicate part of my work. Welcome to the Skyforge. How can I help you?” He flashed a bright smile. Talon was wearing a traditional blacksmith’s apron. His shirt had the sleeves rolled up his forearms. His pants were a worn leather tucked into thick boots obviously made to withstand the intensity of some of his smithing practices.

[Taelian]

The tenth had been an interesting night.

Immediately after his meeting with the Siltori regent, Taelian returned to his slim wooden hovel in the lower sections of the city, leaned against his moderately crafted walls of sand-shaded wood. He had been stuck in thought. Taelian spent much of that evening thinking on what had occurred. Riven might have been worried of his non-presence that night, but Taelian was certain he could placate him later.

For that evening, all he imagined was the consequences of his actions that had already come, and the actions that would come later. It was clear to him that ‘the Seamstress’ was not particularly offended by his earlier insinuations, as she had offered to become a point of contact for him in the future. But what were her motives? Did Aldrin need to know?

He thought, but came no closer to a resolution than hours prior. He was frustrated. Taelian fell to rest that night with a great deal upon his mind — nothing he could yet settle. The following day, when he spent time with Riven he decided not to mention all of these many things. These games of belief and ideal, of concerns that did not belong to him.

Taelian would not evolve his lover — who understood nothing of his people or his plight — to inquire with his moral sensibilities on conflicts that were not his own. So they discussed their outdoor explorations, their upcoming dates, their sparring and the other things they liked to do. Once they separated for the day, Taelian went home and - with voucher in hand - wondered of what he should do the following day. To accept the weapon from the Lady was essentially to agree to align with her. Though he had been the one to initially offer if, he wondered if the two of them would wish to climb the same mountains, or in the same way.

Taelian found that some level of his capacity for compassion had been aimed towards other people than his own, of late. Riven, the most obvious example. How would he feel about Taelian’s greater aspirations?

When morning came, he decided to put on his typical, comfortable clothes. A black knit sweater with a white linen top beneath, linen pants that were somewhat loose, and sandals he had gotten not long after his arrival. He headed towards the ‘Skyforge’ he had been directed to, bringing his blade along with him, and the slip the Lady had offered, and little else.

Eventually, he found the workshop. It was… like something he had seen before, in the Remedy. Where their special equipment was made. Not his, but, others. Ashwraiths, Black Revenants. Aldrin’s occasional mace, dragged behind him upon a short chain.

It was loud. Taelian spotted a staircase, and heard a voice calling from it, down below. He kept his voucher handy, and listened to the instructions provided by the voice. He sounded like an Avialae — not like Riven, though, with his brusque Rien flair. This voice was very Synnekar. He had begun to notice the difference.

Upon descending the stairs, he was greeted more properly by the Smith, his Runeforge adjacent to him. Or whatever it was; Taelian was not well versed in magic.

The man had dark hair, black, and a fair complexion with almost Siltori facial features, Taelian immediately noticed. He was well built and donned an apron, with rolled up sleeves revealing his arms. Behind him were silver wings, draped casually behind him. Taelian was glad he had been spending so much time of late with his arlaed, as he no longer felt nearly so intimidated by Avialae. He often stood up to one far more imposing than their common denominator.

“Hello,” he flatly responded, his expression remaining distant and cool. “I was sent here by Lady Sahfri of House Novalys to receive a weapon from you. I am Taelian Ela’Rannoch of Silfanore. Please perform the duties as—“

He stopped himself. Taelian has tried to be less rude of late, though even optimism of recent magnitudes could not alter his fundamental indifference. He had no interest in this man, and actively hoped he would not speak.

“She did not specify what I would be receiving. A sword, I presume.”

[Talon]

Talon immediately zeroed in on the fact that the man in front of him was a Siltori. The Silver Elves were well known to him. His mother was of course, one of them. This one was broad and possessed of the robust musculature he had come to admire in the elves that, while not as bulky as his own physique, was still hale and strong. His attire was simple and when the man opened his mouth and, in a very brisk and indifferent manner, explained that he had been sent to his shop by none other than his own mother, Talon wasn’t surprised. He had personally augmented the weaponry carried by his mother’s bodyguards. It was one of the first large projects he’d undertaken when he had been comfortable enough to step out on his own. In the time since then, his mother occasionally sent associates who just so happened to usually be Siltori themselves, to his shop to receive augments to their weaponry.

Talon never minded. His mother insisted on paying the normal expenses that he would charge customers and Talon usually just ended up putting the money back into his family’s coffers at the end of the season. He didn’t taken offense to the man’s very stiff demeanor. He was accustomed to it when dealing with the elves whose homeland he knew only bits and pieces about. Whenever he asked his mother about the place she came from, she always grew distant and sad. The subject was never lingered on as he hated to see her that way.

“I assume you have a missive?” Talon held out his hand. Upon receiving his mother’s note he broke the seal and opened the envelope. His grey eyes scanned the note before nodding. He folded the note then placed it into one of his pockets to be dealt with later.

“You have been granted one melee weapon of your choice.” Talon nodded to the blade that was on Taelian’s person.

“I assume you are practiced in the claymore?” Talon stepped closer to Taelian. He rubbed his stubbled chin and slowly circled the elf, studying the man’s bearing. Talon was not a master swordsman by any stretch of the imagination but he was practiced enough to be able to recognize someone familiar with handling a blade. The way Taelian positioned the claymore as well as his comfort in carrying it made it evident he could at least swing it with some skill.

“What is your fighting style? If you tell me your preferences it will help me determine what manner of enchantment will best suit you.” Coming to stand in front of Taelian, Talon smiled as he awaited the information he would need to begin forming a plan.

This was always his favorite part of runeforging. Forming the enchantment, figuring out the manner of reagents he would need and piecing together the concept of the final product. He enjoyed every aspect of the world involved with enchanting but he always loved to see what his customers preferences were. Outside of traders and farmers who he simply reinforced the resiliency of their tools, he didn’t receive too many who could afford more elaborate enchantments.

[Taelian]

The man's blatant and direct observations did not make him feel uncomfortable. He was used to it; Dranoch would often do the same, perhaps to determine the value of the individual they observed, on a scale of Famished-Elf to considerable sustenance. He had often been the object of scrutiny for peering eyes, a tall and rigid man even for his kind. In this case, it was for a business purpose: he wished to discover the fundamentals of Taelian's fighting style, likely based on his posture and physique. With the Claymore strapped to his back and Taelian's feet leaning into a stance more suitable for his swinging arm, it was likely that he was an aggressive fighter. Better yet, one could wager that he fought with a focus on alacrity and precise blows.

He did. As the Avialae asked him of how he fought, the Siltori nodded curtly and replied without much enthusiasm.

"I'm a hunter -- of very dangerous foes. Foes highly quick and lethal, capable of turning their claws all manner of trajectory in order to catch one off-guard with an unsuspecting swipe. And many more things. I need to be on my feet, always, aware of what is around me. Currently, I feel that my weapon is too slow to deal with the Dra-- with... my typical enemies. Though its range and the weight I can put into it are good, it's difficult to keep up with the assault of a fully realized enemy... type," he pressed his lips together. Taelian looked confused, wondering if he should even bother to keep his profession secret. He had told Sahfri first thing -- but then, those circumstances were different. For one, he could say it in his own tongue.

The Ebon Knight frowned. "I'm a.. fire mage. I'll be learning an ability soon that applies a constant magical affect upon my blade, one that emits violent arcs of fire along the trajectory of the swing. It's called Emblem. It tends to moderately reduce the speed of swings, for a time, and this combined with my already-present issue will lead to my eventual downfall as things are. I would like for you to help me amend this issue, even if it means utilizing a lesser ore. I have no concept of these things, though..." he said, staring blankly at the other man. Taelian did not seem particularly distraught by this fact.

"This looks... tiring," he made sure to include. "I suppose that's why you didn't introduce yourself. Tiredness. Care to be given a second chance to do so?" he haughtily inquired, acting in the manner most typical to him. He supposed, no matter Riven's attempt at conditioning, he still had a soft spot for overt disdain. Once inferring his request, Taelian smiled fakely and avoided contact with the other man as he stepped past him. Taelian met the length of the workshop around Riven's wall, and began to trace his fingertips along the contours and edges of the objects and tools present.

He was utterly nonchalant. It was like he was unaware of the presence of any others. When finally he glanced back to look at the unnamed Avialae, he did so with a distant stare. He was curious about the process, if bored by the finery and steps. Taelian could never be an exceptional Runeforger, though he wondered if the other man was either. He would soon garner his answer.

[Talon]

Talon listened patiently as Taelian described the enemies that he intended to go up against. The more he heard, the more one of the runesmith’s eyebrows quirked. From the sound of it, the man was going to be plunging headlong into the Warrens to face whatever beasts awaited him there. He would have cautioned the man in his journey but such was not for him to decide. By Taelian’s stance and his stiff demeanor, he wasn’t a stranger to the rigors of combat. There was no need to be redundant. At Taelian’s confession to being a mage, Talon wasn’t particularly phased. As a practitioner of the mystical arts himself, he was accustomed to dealing with other magic users from time to time.

“I can imbue the blade with an enchantment to reduce that burden. I can even take it one step further and make the blade more resilient and unlikely to shatter or lose its edge.” Already he was thinking on the process that was going to be done in order to improve this blade. He waved a hand at the comment regarding ore.

“Not to worry, we’ll be using steel. Good steel, I might add.” Talon extended his hands so that he could examine the blade and incorporate it into the runeforging process. He was about to add more insight into his process and explain what would be required of Taelian in the next few steps but didn’t get the chance. The elf made something of a snide remark concerning a lack of introduction on his part which Talon found somewhat confusing. His face reflected his confusion for a moment before he shook his head and folded his arms over his chest.

“Apologies. You’re right. The process can be a bit taxing at times and requires a great deal of concentration.” He stepped up to Taelian so that he was in the elf’s direct line of sight during his meandering around his shop. Extending a hand to the elf, Talon offered a smile in good humor at what must have been a small lapse in Taelian’s directions to come to his forge.

“I would have thought my mother would have told you, as it was she who sent you here.” He chuckled. “I am Talon. Firstborn Son of Savien and Sahfri of House Novalys. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Taelian Ela’Rannoch.”

Talon hoped that with his introduction firmly in place the somewhat stiff demeanor of the elf would subside. The runesmith thought for a moment that perhaps Taelian had taken affront to the lack of a formal greeting on his part. Talon had to admit that within the sanctuary of his workshop he tended to drop all forms of courtly decorum and formality. It would be cumbersome to receive customers that way. Talon preferred a more personable approach to running his establishment.

[Taelian]

Lighter and sturdier? There was no better possibility, he thought. The death of too many Ebon Knights was the breaking of their Enkindled weapon… and the other most common cause of death was a lack of speed in their parries and swings. Emblem was a gift and a curse, one that some chose not to use entirely, for that reason. Perhaps a Runeforged weapon was his answer.

“Lighter and more durable. I’ll keep the range, and presumably the force, yes? The point of this weapon is to kill my enemies in as little strikes as possible. Lighter often means weaker. So - will the weapon only feel lighter, or will it actually be less weighty?”

He was being critical, but for good reason. Taelian needed to know how these changes would affect his hunts. Depending on the changes he would need to consider a larger variety of options. As things stood currently, though, lighter and more durable seemed the most advantageous pick. Even if it did decrease the bullying power of his weapon to some extent, it would not reduce its cutting power, and Emblem would far make up for the rest.

He continued to think, though he grew distracted by the progression of their conversation, the Siltori displaying his usually crass demeanor as things elevated beyond business discussion and greeting. The other man apologized to him directly, after Taelian’s chastising remark in regards to his lack of introduction, acting ever-diplomatic in his approach. The Siltori had no reason to be hostile to him, and so he did not act that way. He stared at the other and nodded once in affirmation of, supposedly, just how distracted Talon was. Their candor continued.

Though almost immediately, a heavy admission was left for him to consider. The identity of the man before him, who ensured that he was in Taelian’s direct gaze. Talon. The son of Sahfri and Savien, and the man who Riven owed so much to. His safety — the wealth of his lifestyle. The ability to pursue his passions; the survival of his flight from Lorien. Taelian didn’t claim to know everything about Riven yet, or about Talon, or indeed their relationship to one another. What he knew was the strange feeling he first had when he had heard the other man speak of him, a vague estimation of Riven’s emotions that even he did not seem to understand.

It was strange. Were the Famished in him not so active as it was right now, he felt that he would have almost been angry. But he wasn’t. He felt nothing. Perhaps, if anything, the vaguest sense of curiosity.

“I see,” he softly replied. “I speak to a Lord, then. I hope you do not mind my uncivil manner. Riven has told me some, albeit not much, about you. I suppose, considering he is the man I intend to commit my life to, you and I will see glimpses of one another often.” He did not know how his words would be perceived; whether Talon would think he was attempting to provoke jealousy or merely accurately describe their circumstances. Taelian’s mind fell more towards the latter, though he could only admit that he worried at times for the longevity of their relationship when the foreboding presence of this… much more influential man was near him.

This was the person he worried of in the Palace. The one he thought may not abide by his interference. Though he seemed gracious, suspicion was innate to the Ebon Knight.

[Talon]

For the briefest of moments, the world came to a standstill. In that short span of time, Talon felt the deepest and most raw emotion he had yet to experience in his life. It was stronger than fear. It was more jarring than rage. It was more painful than even the cut of a blade upon his flesh and felt worse than the claws that had scarred his face.

It was heartbreak. And Talon felt it. But only for a moment.

Talon quickly winnowed down the bond between himself and Riven. He was certain that something of what he felt had been visible upon his face and in the tension of his body. He did his best to withhold the truth of what he was feeling from Taelian. The Avialae drew that pain into himself and kept it there, unwilling and unable to let it slip even further past the boundaries of his own mind to be shared by his companion. As he stared at Taelian, he did so with new eyes. This man was the reason Riven had been in such high spirits lately. This man was the reason he’d felt his bond partner feel such raw and intense emotions that had flared across their bond like a flare. Now Talon understood. He felt many things in that moment. Too many things to sort it all out.

The Avialae opted for the honorable thing to do, though it pained him to do so. This was the man that Riven had obviously given his heart to. He opened his aether sight, drawing upon the gift of Semblance and viewed what he could of Taelian’s aura. He was...surprised by what he saw. Taelian’s emotions seemed diminished to him. A touch of something Talon couldn’t quite describe pervaded the entirety of Taelian’s being. Talon couldn’t tell whether it was magical or self-imposed but the Siltori’s emotions and aura was too difficult to truly read on any meaningful level. At least, it was while Talon was in his present state of mind. Talon’s silence lasted only a heartbeat or two before he let out a breath. To his own ears, it almost sounded pained.

“Oh.” It was the only word that he could manage at the moment. Talon drew in another breath. He looked down at the floor of his shop. Distantly he noted that he needed to sweep the floor. It was an odd thought to have in such a serious moment but there it was. It felt surreal. As Talon came to grips with a realization that was hard to swallow. But he did. He had to. It was his duty and he’d long ago swore an oath to himself, one that his iron will refused to let him break even in the face of the many painful feelings he currently felt.

“Riven is a good man. Please…” Talon’s voice held the faintest tremor. “...don’t hurt him.”

With that, Talon cleared his throat. He sighed. He felt exhausted. He smiled. It felt fake but it was not unkind.

“I promise that your blade will not lose its ability to impact your foes as you desire. Now that I know you are Riven’s beloved, I have all the more reason to pour every ounce of skill I have into the craftsmanship. It’ll be the finest sword you’ve swung yet!” Talon would throw himself into his work. That was easier than sorting out what he felt. He would not interfere. He would not be unkind. He would not make Taelian feel unwelcome. Because the elf wasn’t. There was a part of Talon, and it was a large part of him, that was sincerely happy that Riven had found someone to love so passionately. He was simply...going to have to come to terms with the fact that it was not him.

“Now then, if there’s nothing else? I should get to work on your sword. It will take roughly ten days to complete.”

[Taelian]

And there it was.

He flashed a smile, though it was incredibly brief, and not because he enjoyed whatever suffering he had inflicted upon the other man. It was only because he was right -- that slight suspicion of his, based solely on what he had inferred from tone, had been correct. Talon had feelings for Riven; and not only feelings, but incredibly strong ones. They were feelings somewhat akin to his own, though with all of the insecurity that came with having no foundation for them to lie on. For, as long as they had been together, Talon and Riven had never consummated their feelings in a physical manner, nor titled themselves, nor expressed their affections vocally. These feelings were a secret, and had they not been so prominent, Talon would've likely been able to hold them deceptively from the Siltori man.

But Taelian was not blind. Even though he lacked in empathy, he had always been a wallflower in his moments of quiet emotional deadlock. He learned to observe very well. The trembling, the deeper breaths, the exhaustion that seemed to follow after his movements. This was a mixture of many things; most of all sorrow, disappointment, perhaps even fury. At... perhaps, the world. Life caught up to people that way.

Taelian was tempted, with the bitterness that accompanied him, to rub salt in the wound. He could only admit that. For a moment, it felt nice... to hold that power over someone. He would've told the man that he could not have everything he wanted -- his noble name, the allegiance of a city, the eminence of a winged warrior, the life of a Blacksmith simpleton and his intended amorous affections. Some things slipped by, for some. For Taelian, Riven was a fresh breath of meaning into a winnowing husk of a form, deprived of everything. Truly, Famished; starved of joy, of hope, of purpose and life. Of love and loved ones, of all those who had once mattered or still did, but weren't alive.

With Talon... Taelian could never see it that way. As much as he himself loved Riven, and though he found him to be wondrous, Talon could find another. He surely had a hundred courtesans lusting after him -- and if not him, his wealth. Love was only one facet of a full life.

Oh.

"Oh," he repeated. While Talon's soft sound of realization was in regards to Taelian being Riven's lover, Taelian's was a response to his own discovery that Talon did not like that. Even if his anger was not placed towards Taelian himself, the presence of their relationship was a very unfortunate fact.

Riven is a good man.

He agreed. The other man's voice tremored, in accordance with his body that barely held from outright shaking, mired in negative emotions. Don't hurt him.

The man fakely smiled. Taelian's eyes remained trained on him, dulled by apathy.

Even though he felt almost as if he had done nearly irreparable damage to the other man, Taelian found little interest in his self-destructive internalization. He did not enjoy the cramped space of the forge, which was reason enough to leave.

He supposed, though, that he should at least respond -- lest Talon be given reason to suspect his motives. The Siltori had no negative will in his heart; only the petty irritations of a man who wished for the singular desires of his beloved. His arlaed.

"Repressing all of this negativity, I would ask the same of you. A grief-stricken man is a far greater danger than one happily in love."

They were cold, harsh words. Taelian shook his head when asked if he needed anything more, and eagerly left the forge. He wondered, as he left, why Sahfri had led him to her son -- to break his heart? Given how easily Taelian had told her of his relations with Riven, he could not imagine that he would not be expected to do the same with her son. Perhaps she did not wish for her son to continue dallying in worry over a peasant man. He could not know; he would never understand the sickening games of the Nobility. Taelian just wanted his sword.

[Talon]

Talon watched Taelian go. He heard the elf’s words and he supposed that in some perverse world, Taelian might have meant them in good humor. Talon dismissed them for what they were, the words of an observer who knew nothing about how Talon processed the world or the caliber of his character. The Avialae had no doubt that he would be in pain. He would lament what was lost. He would embrace those feelings. He would live them. He would explore them. For the moment though? The last things he wanted were the callous words of a man who didn’t know the first thing about the complexities of an Avialae and their bonded partner. He said nothing of this however, he merely nodded to Taelian as he left.

When the elf was gone, Talon just stood there. It was strange. He felt as though he should be filled with rage. He felt as though he should be filled with agony, with grief and sorrow. Vaguely he was aware of the fact that those emotions were present inside of him. They were roiling beneath the surface. For the moment however, Talon was just numb. In many ways, it was almost a relief to feel numbness. He went to the door of his shop, he shuttered the windows and locked the door. Turning on his heel, Talon clasped his hands behind his back. His wings fluttered slightly behind him, the only outward sign of his internal deliberations.

Talon resolved himself to two things as he made his way back to his workbench. The first, was that he had gone far afield of his parent’s grooming and preparation. There was much that he needed to learn if he were to guide and lead his House in the days of the far flung future. In order to fix that, he would pour himself into the wishes of his parents and attend every function, every dull meeting, and any other machination they desired. The second saw Talon opening up the bond that he shared with Riven. He reached across it and though his pain was still raw, he sent his bond partner what he knew the man would need the most in the days to come: love.

Talon loved Riven. He’d loved him for the longest time. The gift of the bond meant that Talon knew Riven’s joy and passion. He knew the man’s stubbornness and pride. Riven could be hot headed, arrogant, brave, selfless, a complete dunce at times and a brilliant explorer and observer at others. He knew the Kathar Avialae as deeply as their connection allowed him to, save for those things that the both of them kept purposefully clutchen to themselves. But for as deeply as Talon was wounded, he could not hold on to anger. There was nothing to be angry about. Talon had made his choice years ago; to be what he understood Riven needed at the time. Riven had made his choice freely as a man of his own mind and heart, whatever love the Kathar Avialae felt for Talon, it evidently was not enough to move him to action in the way he moved with Taelian.

Talon would have to make peace with that.

After sending Riven that warmth, that comfort, his love, Talon winnowed down their connection to its most minimal point. He closed himself off as much as he could and armored himself against the hurt that would claw its way to the surface with time.

Talon picked up the rod that he had been working on before Taelian entered his shop. He brought it back to his anvil. He picked up his hammer then opened up his senses to the presence of aether so that he could see the scope and shape of his work clearly. It was hard to see the physical world through the mist of the silent tears he shed.

[Nyx]

Taelian

Points: 8/8

Magic?: N/A

Lores:

Investigation: Discovering Hidden Emotions
Spycraft: The tangible dangers of unrequited affections
Spycraft: The Plots of the Nobility
Runeforging: A Runeforger's workshop
Tactics: Understanding your individual strengths
Tactics: Seeking to minimize your weaknesses
Business: Contracting
Business: Using a waiver for commissions

Talon: Likes Riven
Talon: Shattered by my relationship with Riven
Talon: Runeforger and Smith

Loot: N/A

Injury and Overstepping: N/A

Talon

Points: 8/8

Magic?: 3 for Semblance, 2 for Runeforging

Lores:

Runeforging: Tempering aether clusters to avoid disruption
Runeforging: Using tongs to grab aether pathways
Semblance: Recognizing uneven aether distribution during runeforging
Semblance: Recognizing a diminished aura
Semblance: Taelian’s Aura
Business: Working on commission
Business: Introductions allow for more personable deals
Investigation: Pinpointing a customer’s needs
Meditation: Compartmentalizing emotions
Meditation: Using labor and tasks to distract from suffering

Taelian: Distant. Abrasive. Clinical.
Taelian: Has a dampened aura
Taelian: Riven’s lover

Loot: N/A

Loss: Talon's emotional stability.

Injury and Overstepping: Heartbreak absolutely counts.



Comments: No need to record those losses on your character sheet, I think Talon's already been wounded enough. Lordy, Taelian just loves to go for the throat punch doesn't he? He's an ass, and we wouldn't have him any other way. I'd love to see you boys do more threads in the future, especially one or two with Riven involved, but even if you don't this was a wonderful tone setter for their relationship. Not only that, but it really helps emphasize some of the more negative traits of both your characters. Taelian doesn't even particularly mean to be an ass, but he doesn't know how to phrase his words any other way and then he starts poking when he feels vindicated by what he finds. Meanwhile we have Talon who's about to bottle up his own feelings because he doesn't know how to approach Riven and communicate. All in all, I feel sad for both of them. Let me love them both.