6th of Searing, 121 AS
The world was whitewashed, bleached like bone. The vibrancy of spring had slipped away, burned by the flaming heat of Searing that had approached far too quickly. The smell of flowers had become overshadowed by the stiff scent of wood and smoke, food roasting, and sweat of a people who labored in preparation for the waning years' end. Wherever Lyra looked though she saw only muted colors, muted and dulled by a mysterious weight on her shoulders.
She shuffled more than walked up the last few steps to the entrance of the Skyforge, and when she pressed her hand on the wood of the door she could feel every splinter, minor rough edge, and the mark of aging as the heavy door was pushed open. Still as was normal she straightened her back, leveling her gaze forward, and proceeded with purpose.
"Can I help you?" The woman at the front asked, the clerk if Lyra recalled correctly. Lyra glanced down at the shorter woman, noting the items in her hands and the stern frown that did not match the wrinkles on her forehead.
"I've come to speak with Talon. Is he here at present?" Lyra's frown deepened, gold eyes focusing on the Dwarfs. The clack of boots made them both look up as another man approached, one who made Lyra's frown fade ever so slightly.
"Lyra, Talon is here. I will let him know of your arrival if you wait here a moment."
Sylas was a stern man, strong and confident, and through the rhythms of his soul, Lyra could sense his loyalty not just to his work, but to Talon himself. It was he who escorted her when she visited the Skyforge more often than not, so perhaps he was unsurprised to see her and already knew her request.
"Thank you. Please let him know that if he is occupied I shall come again another day."
The man's bow was pristine. He already knew that Lyra did not require or demand such things, yet he seemed the proper sort. It made Lyra smile at his retreating back.
"I will look around while I wait. Please, do not trouble yourself with me." The words were directed to the dwarf who was still frowning, but with a shrug, she returned to her work.
Even in this space, the world seemed colorless. The blues and greens felt more of swamp water than ocean tides, the whites seem tainted, and the blacks somehow menacing. The stone columns were smooth and cold to the touch as Lyra's nails scraped along their surface. Despite how, from a distance, such structures seemed so flawless, all it took was a closer inspection to realize that there were always cracks. Minor imperfections, unimportant as some would say, but cracks tend to spread when pressure was applied. Lyra absently trailed a hand down the front of her robes, pressing a spot just below her sternum. Pain was something acceptable. Pain was predictable. The unknown was what drove chills down the spine. The uncertainty of the next day, the next hour, the next second.
Shaking her head Lyra looked to the wall of artifacts. Without thought she found herself touching one of the rings, a beautiful piece of silver and gold, with a large gem at its core. Like with flaws, it required closer inspection to notice the details of true masterworks. They were often subtle, invisible to most, but Lyra could see it even without the Sight. Closing her eyes she listened. It was true that only the living had symphonies, melodies that could be controlled or manipulated. Objects were simply that, objects with no inherent will of their own. That is, however, a truth that Lyrielle had long since suspected was flawed.
The ring was slow to warm under her touch, and the longer she held her finger in place the less and less she could distinguish those details of mastery. It took time, but it was possible to look past the symphonies, to something deeper, farther beyond. The Symphonies are the music of souls. All things, no matter how big, or how small possessed a soul. People, gods, all things that were part of the Aetherium. That was what that person had said, what she had truly believed. It was preposterous of course, yet by that definition, all things, living and nonliving, should possess something akin to a soul. It was true that Lyra had met spirits, plants, and other curios abnormalities which could be said to possess a symphony of their own, yet the idea that a mere ring could possess one was more than madness. It was simply foolish fancy. Yes, just a fancy... But then Lyra wondered. In this quiet, at this moment where not a soul was present but her, why could she hear a faint hum.
Heavy boots on stone broke the fragile moment, and the humming silenced like a snapped string. Lyra opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder, relaxing muscles she had not realized were tense as she saw Talon approach.
"I seem to call on you at the worst of times, Be'melar." Her hand fell from the ring and she turned, "Do you have a moment?"
The world was whitewashed, bleached like bone. The vibrancy of spring had slipped away, burned by the flaming heat of Searing that had approached far too quickly. The smell of flowers had become overshadowed by the stiff scent of wood and smoke, food roasting, and sweat of a people who labored in preparation for the waning years' end. Wherever Lyra looked though she saw only muted colors, muted and dulled by a mysterious weight on her shoulders.
She shuffled more than walked up the last few steps to the entrance of the Skyforge, and when she pressed her hand on the wood of the door she could feel every splinter, minor rough edge, and the mark of aging as the heavy door was pushed open. Still as was normal she straightened her back, leveling her gaze forward, and proceeded with purpose.
"Can I help you?" The woman at the front asked, the clerk if Lyra recalled correctly. Lyra glanced down at the shorter woman, noting the items in her hands and the stern frown that did not match the wrinkles on her forehead.
"I've come to speak with Talon. Is he here at present?" Lyra's frown deepened, gold eyes focusing on the Dwarfs. The clack of boots made them both look up as another man approached, one who made Lyra's frown fade ever so slightly.
"Lyra, Talon is here. I will let him know of your arrival if you wait here a moment."
Sylas was a stern man, strong and confident, and through the rhythms of his soul, Lyra could sense his loyalty not just to his work, but to Talon himself. It was he who escorted her when she visited the Skyforge more often than not, so perhaps he was unsurprised to see her and already knew her request.
"Thank you. Please let him know that if he is occupied I shall come again another day."
The man's bow was pristine. He already knew that Lyra did not require or demand such things, yet he seemed the proper sort. It made Lyra smile at his retreating back.
"I will look around while I wait. Please, do not trouble yourself with me." The words were directed to the dwarf who was still frowning, but with a shrug, she returned to her work.
Even in this space, the world seemed colorless. The blues and greens felt more of swamp water than ocean tides, the whites seem tainted, and the blacks somehow menacing. The stone columns were smooth and cold to the touch as Lyra's nails scraped along their surface. Despite how, from a distance, such structures seemed so flawless, all it took was a closer inspection to realize that there were always cracks. Minor imperfections, unimportant as some would say, but cracks tend to spread when pressure was applied. Lyra absently trailed a hand down the front of her robes, pressing a spot just below her sternum. Pain was something acceptable. Pain was predictable. The unknown was what drove chills down the spine. The uncertainty of the next day, the next hour, the next second.
Shaking her head Lyra looked to the wall of artifacts. Without thought she found herself touching one of the rings, a beautiful piece of silver and gold, with a large gem at its core. Like with flaws, it required closer inspection to notice the details of true masterworks. They were often subtle, invisible to most, but Lyra could see it even without the Sight. Closing her eyes she listened. It was true that only the living had symphonies, melodies that could be controlled or manipulated. Objects were simply that, objects with no inherent will of their own. That is, however, a truth that Lyrielle had long since suspected was flawed.
The ring was slow to warm under her touch, and the longer she held her finger in place the less and less she could distinguish those details of mastery. It took time, but it was possible to look past the symphonies, to something deeper, farther beyond. The Symphonies are the music of souls. All things, no matter how big, or how small possessed a soul. People, gods, all things that were part of the Aetherium. That was what that person had said, what she had truly believed. It was preposterous of course, yet by that definition, all things, living and nonliving, should possess something akin to a soul. It was true that Lyra had met spirits, plants, and other curios abnormalities which could be said to possess a symphony of their own, yet the idea that a mere ring could possess one was more than madness. It was simply foolish fancy. Yes, just a fancy... But then Lyra wondered. In this quiet, at this moment where not a soul was present but her, why could she hear a faint hum.
Heavy boots on stone broke the fragile moment, and the humming silenced like a snapped string. Lyra opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder, relaxing muscles she had not realized were tense as she saw Talon approach.
"I seem to call on you at the worst of times, Be'melar." Her hand fell from the ring and she turned, "Do you have a moment?"
