73rd of Ash, 120 AS
There was a light rain the day Lyra packed her things and made her way toward the south side of the Plaza. She pulled her cloak's hood up high over her features, blocking the chilled wind and wetness as she walked. The people of Kalzasi were starting to grow sluggish with the change in seasons coming soon. Shop owners counted their wares, and the few people in the markets made quick hops between buildings instead of strolling from stand to stand as they would have most days. A cold breeze filtered through the winding alleyways, rustling cloaks and pushing against Lyra as she made her slow trek down the cobblestone path.
She had been putting this off for a while now. The request from the Circle of Spells had been more than insistent, closer to demand than anything else. Because of that Lyra had taken her time, uninterested in their motives and goals. Eventually, though she knew she would have to attend this matter. She was able to function as a business in part because of their support, though she had obtained it through her connections with the Heir of House Novalys. All things come with a price of course, and this was what she now paid. It was a simple request when put into perspective, so Lyra's reluctance was almost purely from spite than concern for the request itself.
"Phoma's." Lyra read the sign over the door as she approached. A simple two-story building, unassuming at first glance. It seemed an odd place for the circle to be interested in, as on the exterior it looked to just be a pawn shop. Through one of the windows, Lyra could see a number of odd items sitting on shelves, labeled and priced, but there was no real logic to what was for sale. It was like a mash of random things that people would throw away.
With a sense of resignation, Lyra pushed open the door, a soft tingling of a bell announcing her presence.
"Welcome." An older woman behind the counter said, looking up from something on the counter in front of her. Older, but not quite decrepit. The woman, Phoma as she was called, seemed like the sturdy sort, like an old stump that despite the wages of time would continue to stand unchanged as she had always been. She smiled as Lyra walked in, the kind of smile one learned to give with age and experience.
"Phoma, the owner of this shop I presume?" The wood of the doorframe was smooth, and when Lyra looked she saw it was carved with careful designs. Her eyes followed them up to a point above the door where a small gem was inset. Odd, she thought. Was it a decoration?
"That is who I am, for too long now I suppose." Phoma's words were soft-spoken but did not waver. She looked back down at her counter then, fiddling with something in her hands for a moment before looking back up, "Are you the one Finnius sent to help with me with my workshop?"
She was quick on the uptake, which surprised Lyra. She nodded slowly, pushing back her hood to reveal her features. The older woman blinked, but if she found Lyra's tattooed appearance unusual she said nothing. As Lyra stepped fully into the shop the door behind her closed with another tinkling of bells, making Lyra look back curiously.
"My workshop is in the basement." Phoma had moved from around the counter, and motioned to Lyra from another doorway. Glancing back one last time Lyra made to follow the woman, adjusting the strap of her satchel on her shoulder.
"You do not want verification of my identity?" Lyra asked as she was lead into a back room, toward a set of stairs leading down. Ahead of her Phoma snorted.
"Finnius was very descriptive. Those markings of yours are not something one sees very often, so I am fairly certain you are the one I was told to expect."
The stairs spiraled downward, the darkness cut by lanterns that glowed with the steady inward magical light. Lyra trailed a hand along the wall as they progressed downward, noting the grooves worked into the stone at consistent intervals. They were similar to the ones around the door, which made her curiosity grow. When they reached the bottom Phoma dug a key from one of the pouches, using it to open the heavy lock on the door before pushing it open with a grunt.
The room on the other side was a large open space. Wooden tables dotted the walls and the center of the floor, and normal lanterns gave light to the room from large stone pillars that were scattered throughout the room. Passing Phoma Lyra looked around, noting the pictographs along the walls and ceiling, and the gems embedded in the ceiling. The tables were scattered with a variety of tools and objects. Some looked like wooden constructs with small gems for eyes, others were devices of metal and wheels which made Lyra frown in confusion. The more she looked the more Lyra realized that most of the items on the table were made of metal or something metallic in nature, but their construct was completely foreign to her. Wheels with teeth that interlocked long handle connected to lengths of ropes that hung from the ceiling.
Lyra's thoughts were interrupted as Phoma walked past her, touching a point on the wall near the door and causing a line of glyphs to activate. The gems in the ceiling began to glow, casting a more steady light over certain areas, though Lyra noted there was a section where the lights did not activate.
"There was an accident in the lab across the street from my shop." Phoma said, looking at the lights that no longer worked, "It affected several of the constructs I had been working on, and affected the glyphs they powered as well. The lights on that side no longer function, and the core I used to control the design has stopped functioning."
"Core?" Lyra asked, unfamiliar with the word.
"The center of the larger construct that controls this space." Phoma said in answer, tapping the gem she had used to make the lights come on, "My husband before he passed away built most of what you see here."
At Lyra's confused expression Phoma looked over the rim of her glasses, eyeing the seemingly young woman curiously, "He was an artificer."
"An artificer?"
"Do you... not know what an artificer is?" Phoma asked, genuine surprise coloring her voice, and just a little disbelief. She pushed her glasses up, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, "I suppose it isn't impossible. Not every country uses the magic..." She did not sound to confident even as she said it.
"I am from such a place." Lyra said, testing the melodies as she spoke. With a breath of intent, she pressed down on the woman's doubt, having her emotions of interest grow. In response, Phoma glanced around the shop, before waving Lyra to follow her to one particular table. On this table sat a half-finished metallic device. Phoma picked this up, showing it to Lyra. It was a small box with a latch with no obvious way to open it. A series of clasps held the latch in place. A gem rested on the lid, pressed into an indention, and held in place like the jewel in a ring. It glowed with an internal light.
"Construct is a general name for things made by Artificers. They are comprised of three primary parts, the Core, The Body, and the Well." As she spoke Phoma tapped the gem, the top of the box, and a series of pictographs running along the box's external surface, "The Artificer uses these parts and constructs a rudimentary soul to fill the core. She then teaches that soul to perform a specific function. Constructs can be taught to do a lot of things, depending on the skill of the creator."
Phoma brought the box close to her lips and whispered a word. The latch undid itself with a click, the lid flipping open to reveal it was empty. Lyra's eyes felt as if they were about to bulge out of her skull. Seeing this the older woman chuckled, "Yes, I was much the same way when I first learned this as well."
"You mean to tell me," Lyra said, turning around and pointing at the lines of glyphs that lead to various gems around the room, "That this room is one of these 'constructs'?" The word sounded odd coming from Lyra's lips. She almost couldn't wrap her mind around the concept. Artificial SOULS? When had the children learned to create something like THAT? It felt... wrong somehow.
"Not completely." Phoma said, patting Lyra's shoulder like a grandmother would to calm an aggravated child, "My husband, for as hard-working as he was, could not create something quite that complex. He simply connected a few parts of this lab to simple constructs that turn on lights, open certain cabinets and operate a few lifting devices." She pointed toward the dark spot in the lab once more, "Not everything is connected in a single construct, which is why only a portion of the lights no longer function. That is what I requested the Circle's assistance with."
"I do not understand." Lyra said, her mind still reeling, "If you have the skills your husband had, why not repair it yourself?"
Phoma set the box down, closing it and shrugging, "My skill can be called competent, but not exceptional. I can repair simple things, and create basic constructs if I am given direction from the Circle. Primarily I make simple devices for opening doors or keyless locks." She tapped the box for emphasis, "The scrivening required to make the lights function though? Perhaps I could have figured it out, but I am old in case you could not tell. Climbing that high is just a bit beyond me now. At my age, it is a victory to make it down the steps."
She chuckled at the joke, though Lyra was too distracted to find the humor. This was... not what she had expected. For the first time in a while, she felt as if she might be out of her depth. Looking down at the box Lyra rested her hands on her hips, huffing slightly before looking at Phoma who was watching her curiously.
"I know the scripts, and how to repair them." Lyra said, tapping one of the lines on her cheek, "But constructs? These are new to me." She hated to admit it, but it was a simple truth. If she did not know how the magic interacted, she could not be confident in her ability to fix the issue.
"Hmmm, I could see that as being a problem." Phoma assented, looking up at the designs on the ceiling. After just a moment though she said, "In that case, why don't I teach you some of what I know?" She smiled at Lyra's incredulous expression, "For a discount of course. Your services are not cheap after all."
