When winter comes (Modded Thread)

[Lyra]

4th of Frost, 120 AS

"10 gold for the wands on the bottom shelf, 30 for those on the 2nd from bottom, and the staves all begin at 50." Lyra said, forcing the sigh to not escape her lips. In front of her stood a man of substantial girth, short cut beard and a mustache that somehow made his eyes look even smaller. Thinning brown hair combed in a part, and a well tailored suit that was was luxurious as it was ridiculous on his frame.

The man huffed, folding his arms and looking down the row of shelves.

"That is just ludicrous." He looked Lyra up and down, as if examining something that he thought belonged in the rubbish pile, "The quality of those is, at best, worth 3 gold and a silver. The staves I would hardly trust on a short hike around the plaza, let alone use it for anything magical. As I said I will buy your stock for 100 gold. It is the best offer you can expect, considering how few know of this place."

I doubt you could walk from one end of this shop to the other without stopping for breath. Lyra thought, but she said, "The prices are what they are, Fitori. If you wish to shop elsewhere then I would highly encourage you to do so."

Another grumble. How did that mustache move like that? It was almost like a living thing. Lyra watched it with amusement, something she could not feel for the man himself.

"120 gold." He said suddenly, resting a hand on the desk and leaning over the book Lyra was absently writting in. He leared down at her, he was quite tall despite his width, and didn't smile so much as sneered, "I am Leonard Setsuma, head of House Setsuma, one of the vassals to House Veyl. I am sure you are aware of them. Serving my interest is much like serving House Veyl's, and I am sure a small shop like yours would certainly profit from performing such services."

Lyra stared at the hand that rested on her desk, one finger partially on one of her scrap sheets of paper. For a long moment the silenced stretched, the the point that Leonard had to straighten and press a hand to the small of his back. When she finally looked up Lyra smiled a small smile, shifting leaning one elbow on her desk, letting her cheek rest on her hand as she looked up at the man.

"The Head of House Setsuma?" She said slowly, still smiling. Inside her the rhythms thrummed, and she plucked at the man's melodies. Arrogance thudded loud within, a poundings beat like a great drum that almost drowned out everything else. Confidence and self assurance so thick that one could choke on it was there as well, but just beneath all of it was... something else. An unease? No, stress. Concern.

Lyra pressed gentle fingers against those melodies, pushing down that darker feeling until it was all but muted. This had a compounding affect, the confidence soared far higher, twining with the arrogance in an off key tune that was grating on her mind.

"Yes, I am the Head of House Setsuma." Leonard repeated, his back subtly straightening, forcing his gut to stick out a bit farther, "I see you've heard of us. Of course you have, we basically run the market in wood working in this city."

"Oh, is that so?" Lyra smiled wider, absently pulling at a strand of hair as she talked, "That is quite impressive. I was not aware that there was such a large market for woodworking in Kalzasi. Surely you have no need of my wares then. Why not have your artisans craft items of higher quality?"

The words caused a slight change in his tones, that dark feeling rising once more but was washed away by another, hot emotion. Frustration rang like a sour warble over the arrogance and confidence, cutting through it like a knife through butter.

"My people could do that." He said, his expression darkening. With a thought Lyra pressed down on the overconfidence, letting the frustration rise further. Like she hoped that darker feeling rose with it, and he continued, "There are certain... let us say restrictions to what my House can do right now. That will be sorted before long, but for now I am looking to purchase the items I need." He looked at Lyra once more, grunting, "We heard about your little shop from another connection. It just so happens your wares are of passing quality, which is why I am even bothering to come myself to inspect them. If your wares do well, we can likely come to an arrangement for you to supply us with further items."

"That would be a great honor." She kept her voice low, words soft as she sought out his eyes. He could not quite hold her gaze, and instead began looking down at the shelf of wands once more. Now Lyra tugged at that frustration, draining it away as she raised the confidence once more. There, beneath the arrogance there was the hint of something like pride. This Lyra raised up as well, just slightly, and began a slow trill that harmonized with the darker feeling that was steadily growing.

With a theatric sigh Lyra too looked down the shop at the shelf, "It is quite difficult for a new business to get started in this city." Lyra said, pleased when the man nodded in agreement. She paused, then added as if almost an afterthought, "Were it not for the interest of House Briathos and the Circle of Spells, Ale'Epherium likely would not last another two seasons."

He stiffened, that dark feeling suddenly flaring. Shame and embarrassment underlay the arrogance and frustration. He eyed Lyra with a sideways look, but she remained silent, pretending to be in thought as she absently doodled on a piece of paper.

"The Circle of Spells and their patron house are... difficult to work with, or so I am told." His tone had changed, a not so subtle probe for more information. Lyra, for her part, pretended not to notice.

"They certainly require more than a little patience." She waved a hand as if it wasn't worth talking about, "Getting the circle's writ of approval was quite trying, though now they call on me from time to time to consult for them so they have been quite reasonable with me for the most part."

"You give consultation to the Circle of Spells?" There was a very real note of surprise in the man's melodies, and it was written on his face as he turned fully to face her, bushy eyebrows raising.

"From time to time, though I turn down more offers than I accept. It takes far too much time you see." With a shrug Lyra stood, making a show of stacking a few pages and tapping them on the desk. Walking from behind the desk Lyra stood to face Leonard, her head tilted, "The work I take from them is enough to supplement the funds I receive from this shop, and thus why the prices are simply what they are. That is in part how I am able to afford selling my wares at such an affordable rate. Each item, however, takes significant time to craft so I cannot sell you the whole of my wares. I am certain you, a man of business, understand."

She wasn't sure what the guilt or shame was directed toward, but the feelings had dampened the arrogance somewhat. The confidence was still there, but a man like Leonard did not get where he was by not being self assured. He stood there, stroking his mustache and looking at Lyra as he if was just now seeing her.

"Perhaps I was a bit hasty." He said finally, stuffing one hand in his pocket. He relaxed slightly, the rhythms of confidence giving way to something... warm? Hope? It seemed an idea was coming to him, "If you will not sell me your stock, then perhaps you would be willing to... consult for my House as well?"

Lyra adopted an interested expression, "I would not be opposed to the idea, Lord Setsuma, but surely your people would be better suited to whatever work you have in mind."

He waved a dismissive hand, "As I said, they are under certain restrictions. You, however, may be just what we need."

Pushing a stray hair behind her ear Lyra caught Leonard's gaze. When she did she smiled again, and plucked the strings of his mind like a harp. She wrapped his melodies in her own, tuning them and suppressing the frustration, confidence and arrogance. His expression softened, eyes slightly unfocused as he seemed a bit confused, but it was gone in an instant as Lyra added a few notes of her own. Curiosity in the person who is of interest to the Circle of Spells and House Briathos, a certainty that she would be the answer to his problems. Just for a bit of fun Lyra also tampered with a sense of desire, lust deep down like an undertone. It complimented the base of greed that seemed to influence all of his decisions.

"If there is something I can do for you, Leonard, you have but to ask." She let the statement hang, enjoying the slight shift in the man's eyes as the mesmer affects too hold, but then she turned abruptly, "Unfortunately I have much to do today, but perhaps you can send an appointment for me to attend you at your estates?" She started walking away, not looking back as she waved a hand at the man, "We can discuss the... details of an arrangement then."

"I... Yes, of course." He said blinking, stuck watching as Lyra walked away from him. "I will send a messenger to you in a few days. Attend me on the day in the missive." He forced a bit of authority he did not feel in his voice, but Lyra simply glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him.

With that Lyra disappeared into the door to her workshop, remaining there for a few minutes before tentatively sticking her head out. Leonard was gone, and with a sense of relief Lyra stepped back out and returned to her desk. Dealing with nobility, especially men, was truly draining. Still... She wondered what exactly the 'restrictions' were that plagued his house. Well in any case, Lyra would be sure to get the better end of whatever deal they made. Such was the folly of the arrogant noble class.

[Paragon]

“Skillfully done. If, lacking in subtlety.” The voice that spoke was that of a woman’s. She stood passively perusing a few of the bottles of inks that lined one of the shelves not far from Lyra’s desk. The woman stood there as though she had been present for the entirety of the conversation that had taken place between the mistress of the shop and the pompous noble that had tried to exert influence over her. The woman was dressed completely in black. Her face was concealed by the hood of a simple black cloak. One of her hands gently brushed fingers over the spines of various books. The skin was pale as silver moonlight and around the wrist were numerous silver bangles etched with symbols. To the eyes of one such as Lyra, it was clear that those symbols were pictographs. In the other hand, the woman held a bone white staff threaded with veins of black. It was without adornment except for the top which took the shape of gnarled branches. Hair the color of snow and steel fell down from within the folds of the hood.

“You should be more careful.” One of those pale hands picked up a bottle of ink, rotated it curiously as though she were inspecting its contents before setting it gently back into place on the shelf where it came from. The woman turned then to face Lyra. Her face was possessed of a cold, if artistic beauty. The angles of her face and the point of her ears made it easy to assess her elven heritage and the pale complexion combined with the steel grey of her eyes made it even easier to discern that she was Siltori. Resting on her brow was a black circlet made from dark iron. From her ears hung what appeared to be bladed earrings that could just as easily be used as weapons as they were jewelry. She approached Lyra casually, a blank expression on her face as she seemed to be assessing the woman in front of her. When she was not more than an arm’s length away, the woman quirked her head slightly.

“Ana'hesfal le nim, Dinor’afiel.” The woman performed a subtle curtsey as she greeted Lyra more formally in ancient Vallenor. The words that flowed from her mouth were spoken without flaw and with an inflection that denoted familiarity with the old elven language.

“I must say, you have begun to become the subject of much curiosity in the Circle...and elsewhere.”

[Lyra]

The voice made Lyra look up from the stack of papers she was laying out before her, golden eyes widening slightly in surprise. She had thought the shop empty once that man had left, yet had her eyes deceived her?

A dark cloak, delicate fingers with pale skin, ornamented with designs which Lyra could tell even from this distance were pictographs. She studied those designs for a moment longer than the rest of the woman but glanced up to meet the woman's eyes as she spoke a second time. Lyra raised an eyebrow but said nothing to what the woman was implying. Her eyes instead drifted over the staff, curiosity beginning to peak through the surprise.

When the woman turned to face her Lyra slowly eased herself back in her chair, folding one knee over the other as she let her hands rest in her lap. A smile drew her lips up, a simple one that was meant to look inviting. That was how a shopkeeper was supposed to smile, wasn't it? She was just about to greet her new customer when the words she spoke made her pause. Lyra looked at this woman closer then, noting the white hair, the elven features... And then she remembered. Her expression shifted ever so slightly between surprise, suspicion, and finally settling back once more on indifference. Inside, however, Lyra's mind swirled. This was one of the ashen, the fallen ones, or so had been the slur used against many of her allies. It seemed their blood still ran strong in this era. How... unexpected.

"Sef'hesfal a'le nim, Shiva." Lyra replied, after perhaps too long a pause. She had replied without thinking, using the traditional return to that particular phrase which meant 'may the heavenly guide you' or 'let divine mercy be yours'. Shiva was a term used for honored men or women. Though traditionally it was used to refer to someone in positions of a higher authority it could also be used to imply equality depending on the phrase it was paired with. In this case, Lyra had unintentionally chosen the reply which a ruler gave a lesser.

Seeming to realize her mistake Lyra continued in Vallenor, "Forgive me, it has been some time since I have found another who speaks the old tongue. I fear I have grown a bit out of practice." The other woman was so close, but Lyra forced herself to remain just as she was, looking up at those cold eyes. They seemed familiar somehow, but Lyra was sure she had never met this woman before.

"I suppose I should feel flattered that others speak of me. Though I fear I am not interesting enough to be of note to those who matter." Lyra said slowly, eyes flicking down to where the woman's feet rested. There, on the floor was a half-finished glyph carved into the wood. She cursed at herself for her laziness. She could have used additional protections on this day.

"In any case, welcome to my shop. Can I assist you with finding anything?" As she said this she looked up with another smile, waving a hand at the shelves around them. In situations like this, it was best to behave as if nothing were amiss.

"Lady of Whispers"

[Paragon]

The woman waved away Lyra’s apology as though it were of no consequence. She smiled in what appeared to be genuine amusement at Lyra’s remark concerning the matter of her interest.

“A new Scribe appears in the City of Kalzasi, arcane capital of the Northlands of Karnor, seat of the Circle of Spells and homeland of House Briathos itself. She inserts herself into the audience and patronage of the Heir Presumptive of the realm, quickly becomes a figure of consultation for the Circle, outstripping many of the common practitioners of the Schema Arcana, and regularly consults with the services of Dust to Dawn, displaying impressive skills and crafting in the Warrens to explore the puzzle of the Dead Living.” The woman’s eyebrow arched more and more as she listed the small but impressive list of Lyra’s accomplishments since making herself known in the city of Kalzasi. A small chuckle came from the woman before she gestured to Lyra directly.

“Even the body you wear is a testament to the extent of your knowledge, and yes, I said wear. The woman you are parading about inside of is known to the Circle. Former associate of the Antiquities Society. A sudden and poorly explained divergence from a guild she had followed faithfully. Yes. That does not arouse suspicion at all. Meanwhile, you openly display scripts intended to stabilize, maintain, and slow deterioration and enhance aetheric flow.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Do not insult me by playing coy, Lyrielle tu Kovash Elmari.” She used Lyra’s full name before a silence hung in the air.

“I admit it took me more time than I would have preferred to discern who you are. But, given recent events and the stirrings of certain...phenomena and the tomb that now stands empty, the pieces fit together.” She eyed Lyra up and down. Her gaze held no threat. In fact, the words that she spoke were all said rather matter-of-factly. The white haired woman seemed more interested in observing Lyra than confronting her and there was an unforgiving precision to her brutal honesty. After a moment she plucked a piece of imaginary dust off of her robe.

“Or am I mistaken, and I do not stand in the presence of the Lady of Whispers?”

[Lyra]

Through it all Lyra remained silent, looking at the woman with a curious expression. In truth it had not been Lyra's intention to stand out as much as she apparently had. She had thought she had taken the proper precautions, though the mess with the little noble was beyond her predictions. The fact that she was a consult to the Circle of Spells, even one of some talent, would likely not have been enough to draw this much attention. There was a sense of belated acceptance, and she wanted to sigh and shake her head at her own luck. Be'melar had truly been a larger dice than she thought. For whatever reason she had managed to roll a losing hand with that one, despite the apparent rewards that came of their interactions. Still, could she have opened the shop as quickly as she had without his assistance? Likely not, but she was not certain yet if the price was worth the payout.

Did I accidentally roll the gambler's knuckles? Lyra wondered idly, her eyes now looking past the woman as she became introspective.

After the woman finished Lyra sat there for a time, as if in thought. She then reached casually over to her desk, shifting one of the dragoshard stands over just slightly so that it rested over a small circle etched into the wood. As she did so a series of pictographs woven into glyphs activated in sequence, a line of light spreading out and spiraling down the desk and across the walls. The sound of a lock thudding closed could be heard, after which the glyphs went silent.

"You are quite bold in your presumptions, little one." Lyra said softly. She stood slowly, tapping a nail on the desk twice. From one of the drawers a black serpent head poked out, crawling slowly out and winding around it's master's outstretched hand. As Artur reached her shoulder Lyra unintentionally smiled, petting his scaled head affectionally before looking at her guest once more.

This time they were well and truly alone. The front door was locked, but it was not meant to be a threatening gesture. Rather it was a means to keep anyone else from disturbing them. If this one knew of her, then it seemed she did not have long to make her final preparations.

"Let us say, for the sake of amusement, that I am who you believe me to be. How is it you know of that name, let alone its significance? Thought I that the old histories were lost to time, dead as this language we now speak." With unhurried motions Lyra walked past the woman, ignoring the bangles or other threats there might be. She opened herself to the symphonies, listening to this one's as she continued, speaking as she turned and set one hand on her hip.

"And who are you to speak of such things as if they were your birthright? I would have the name of one so... confident."

On her shoulder Artur flicked his tongue toward the woman, his dark eyes staring unblinkingly to match his masters gaze. Lyra no longer smiled.

[Paragon]

She eyed the display of arcane locks going into motion with an air of curiosity but otherwise seemed unaffected by the appearance of them. Those grey eyes settled upon Lyra as she moved from behind the counter. The woman did not move from her position but turned and followed Lyra’s movements, observing her carefully. The appearance of the snake brought the slightest quirking of an eyebrow but nothing further. As Lyra opened herself up to this woman’s symphonies, she was met with a mental acknowledgement. A full awareness of Lyra’s Mesmeric presence, one that was matched and returned. There was no forceful intrusion but Lyra could both see and feel that the woman was equally beginning to observe the surface of the ancient sorceress’s mind.

“How does one know anything, Lady? You learn of it. The libraries you have visited are for ordinary people. To teach them how to read, to write, to plow fields and live ordinary lives. To lead a life grounded in the mundane. Those are not the libraries that I learned from.” As those thoughts raised to the surface of her mind, Lyra was presented with the melodies tied to that knowledge. It was brief before fluttering away returning beneath the overall rhythm of the woman’s thoughts. The woman was silent for a moment, her eyes roaming over Lyra’s form, lingering on the schema that was painted across her body.

“Sahfri.” That was it. She spoke her name with the plainness of simple introductions. No title, no boastful preamble, there was no swelling of her chest or tilt of her chin in defiance. A name, delivered succinctly as though they were discussing the weather.

“And the Old Tongue is not as dead as you might think. It is spoken in the high courts of Sol’Valen, in the towers of Silfanore and in the halls of Aur’arnis.” Sahfri allowed her staff to rest in the crook of her arm as she brought her hands together.

“Much has been lost to the world since the Sundering. Much was lost even before that but some things still remain.”

[Lyra]

As she felt Sahfri's mind Lyra noticed that the woman had also done the same. Lyra did not press on the sensation, nor did she try and hide her own melodies. There was something exceedingly familiar about this exchange, and the older Elf did not pull away. In fact, she extended herself forward, twining their melodies in a way she had not done since the time of the Leh'anafel. It was an open invitation for a connection that could only be shared by two Mesmer. It was, in fact, one of the secrets to the Leh'anafel's exceedingly miraculous coordination and teamwork.

With the offer of connection came a sense of nostalgia from Lyra's melodies, and no hostilities were present. The entirety of their exchange thus far was quite novel for Lyra, who had not realized how starved for communication she had been.

The talk of Libraries seemed... plausible. It was true the books she had found available to the public were less than useful. What this woman implied, however, was that there were other, perhaps more reliable sources of information that was not so easily seen. These remarks elicited a slight peak in the rhythms associated with interest, a fact Lyra did not bother to hide.

When Sahfri spoke her name several notes of amusement came across her melodies, and Lyra smiled once more. The smile though was short-lived, for as the name 'Sol'Valen' was spoken a sudden and intense rage spiked through Lyra. The smile slipped away, and though her face did not show it, inside there was a bubbling hatred and fury the likes of which Lyra had not felt in centuries. She closed her eyes, steadily bringing her emotions under control until the white-hot anger became more like burning coals at the bottom of her soul.

"Better that some things be lost to time." Lyra said, opening her eyes once more. The anger was contained now, though it still peaked out from beneath the rest of her thoughts unbidden. This she had not expected. Even after all they had done, after all, SHE had done Sol'Valen still stood? And Silfanore as well? Was it all pointless?

Lyra was silent for a long time then, her eyes looking off to the side as she pondered. A mixture of emotions swirled. Pain, regret, anger, frustration, and behind it all was a sense that she had somehow failed. That feeling grew until it eclipsed the rest, but then suddenly all of her melodies stilled. The hot anger froze over, and where Lyra had felt frustration there was a new sense of cold resolve. It seemed her work had yet to be accomplished.

"I thank you for this information, Sahfri." Lyra said, at last, looking to the woman once more. She was again smiling, but the expression did not reach her eyes, "It seems I have much to catch up on."

There was another long pause as Lyra's melodies seemed to resume their normal rhythms. In that time Lyra came to a decision and relaxed her posture ever so slightly.

"Very well. Let us be done with this pretense. What brings you, Safri, to this shop? If you knew who I was, and my history, surely you have a reason to seek me out." There was a genuine curiosity with that question, and almost as an afterthought she added, "And please, call me Lyra. Formalities were never of interest to me."

[Paragon]

Across her thoughts there arose a sense of surprise at the inordinate rage that rippled through Lyra. Sahfri’s eyebrow crept upward as she regarded the thoughts curiously.

“The sins of Sol’Valen run deep but though they stand, the land is a corpse of what it once was.” That was the only comment the woman made before nodding her head in response to Lyra’s thanks. “You do. That is part of why I am here.”

“Lyra.” Sahfri spoke the name as though she were testing it. She turned her gaze to the shop once more. Those grey eyes roaming over the expertly crafted wooden shelves, the warm tones of the woodwork along the moulding of the ceilings, to the items that were on display. For a moment, her face softened as the odd coziness of the shop sank in. “I can see why my son respects you.”

Sahfri let out a breath as though she had been holding it. Perhaps, in a way, she had. Even diminished, there was no discounting the truth that Lyra was a powerful and crafty sorceress well versed in many techniques. The Siltori woman allowed her gaze to settle back upon Lyra with a curious intensity that, in that moment, struck a keen resemblance between her and her children

“My first reason was and is simple; I wished to see you for myself. Were the stories true? I believe they are. The second reason? I will get to that but first...” Sahfri reached into her robe and withdrew a single sliver of what appeared to be smoky glass. It was no bigger than perhaps the nail of a pinky finger and was jagged around the edges though time seemed to have worn away the sharpness. It appeared as though it were a small, very small, piece of something much bigger. She extended it to Lyra.

“I believe this belongs to you.” The smoky glass was still but for a moment, a solitary moment, there seemed to be movement within. “I will tell you this, we have known of the tomb for some time. We went to great lengths to study it. We went to greater lengths to keep it hidden but the past year has been a troubling one and we have had to scale back our efforts. The Warrens have been more active as of late and it is not a place that remains static for very long. But know this, you were never supposed to have been able to leave that tomb.”

Sahfri’s words were not a threat. Rather, they implied something. Across her melodies there lingered knowledge of something more. That something she presented to the ancient elf.

“When the chains of your prison were shattered, a signal was supposed to have been released. A signal that would have called forth two Ara to return you to your sentence and seal you back in your tomb. We intercepted that signal. Those great spirits do not know you have been released. One still slumbers. The other...well...she wanders.” Sahfri folded her hands together regarding Lyra as she let that statement settle.

“My other reason for being here? We would like your assistance.”

[Lyra]

Lyra raised an eyebrow to Sahfri. Her Son? Who did she mean? There had been several young men to pass through the doors. Bards, and roughians, smiths, the refined as well as the rugged. As she looked her though, Lyra began to noticed the similarities at last.

Ah, the ball. Lyra recalled. The woman in black standing beside Talon, the one she had not spoken to, whom she had avoided. So this one was the mother of the heir apparent? To Be'melar? Curious.

Several of the words she spoke were now being reevaluated, turned over from new perspectives as further implications were drawn. Sahfri, she never knew her name, but she had heard the title. The Iron Queen, one as strong as she was ruthless. In truth, Lyra found herself a bit startled at how... different she was from the rumors. She had expected this one to be far more forceful, intimidating, and domineering. Though she wasn't soft, her interactions with Lyra had been more measured and careful than the old elf would have expected. It seemed Lyra was not the only one being cautious, and somehow that made her general respect for the woman grow ever so slightly. All of these thoughts, however, were dashed as she was presented with the small piece of glass.

The moment the shard was brought out Lyra felt her soul respond. A pulsing ripple that made her vibrating with anticipation. With a titanic force of will Lyra kept her features neutral, but inside her melodies sang. Excitement and longing warred in equal measure with one another as she reached forward and took the small piece delicately between two fingers. If she had a beating heart it would have been pounding as she clutched the piece of herself close to her chest. So it was true. What she suspected, had not dared to confront. Her soul truly was broken, torn and shattered.

It explains so much. she thought, raising the small piece before her eyes. The smoke inside swirled in response to her attention, again she felt a thrill deep down inside.

To the rest of Sahfri's words, Lyra listened with only half an ear, having eyes only for the piece she had not accepted was missing until that very moment. There were Ara close, not a surprise though what Sahfri said explained why none had come once Lyra was released. One slept, and one wandered. There was something there, Lyra was sure, but for the moment she was too distracted to focus on that line of thought.

She shouldn't, she knew. The danger was too great, and this woman wasn't someone to trust. Despite the reasons or general rationality, Lyra could not help herself. Around her neck, Artur slumped on Lyra's shoulder, and Lyra's eyes glazed slightly. The golden color faded as black smoke began to pour from her mouth and nose in billowing clouds that swirled about her body. The smoke spread out in a wave, flowing around Sahfri and covering the shop with a layer of fog that clung to the shelves and slid over desks and chairs.

Through the connection, there was a sense of peace, an indication that this wasn't a threat. Lyra condensed herself over the shoulder of her vessel, head and torso forming from the smoke. Silver hair flowed as if she were underwater, golden eyes staring out from distinctly Hytori features toward the small piece of glass that was still raised in the vessel's fingers. She kept just enough of herself in the body to ensure it remained standing, though it now stared blankly outward, hand holding the shard upraised. Lyra reached forward one long black nailed finger, only the hand and forearm forming as she did so, and touched the glass.

Pain. Agony filled Lyra's mind as she remembered, suddenly and with sharp clarity the moment of her shattering. White light edged with gold, facing anger so large and boundless that even Lyrielle herself trembled in fear of it. A sensation of ripping, tearing, and then sudden nothingness and blinding light blinked off into total and eclipsing darkness.

Lyra jerked her finger back, the memory still fresh though a smile spread her lips wide, unnaturally so as the corners of her grin curled away into smoke. Large golden eyes turned on Sahfri, and she whispered in a soft voice, pleasure dripping from every word.

"Name your desire, little one, and it shall be yours."

The cold resolve resurfaced once more. Icy and cold, fury contained in ice as a mind that appeared whole began to show the cracks at the edges. She knew what she needed to do. Collect the pieces of herself, and become whole. Deal with the two Ara which were somewhere nearby, and when all that was said and done, finish what she started in Sol'Valen long ago. Yes... Things were steadily clicking into place for Lyrielle. First things first, though. She would assist this one, Sahfri. Not just because she was Be'melar's mother, or because she found some of herself in the woman's demeanor. This one had given her more than she could ever know. In return, Lyrielle would see to it whatever her request was it would be fulfilled. No matter the cost.

Favor for favor, and blood for blood. Or so the old saying went.

[Paragon]

Sahfri observed Lyra in silence. Connected as they were through the melodies of their mind, she flinched at the memory of the agony that seared Lyrielle and shattered her soul. It was as the ancient elf turned her gaze upon Sahfri that the Siltori woman looked well and truly...disturbed. There was a pain in her face and a deep grief in her eyes but those things passed as the woman shored up the walls around her heart.

"Part of me had hoped, had thought that maybe, just maybe I was wrong. Part of me had hoped that perhaps I had found a pretender, a farce that needed to be crushed." Sahfri sighed and suddenly looked much older than her elven heritage allowed. She turned her head to stare out the windows of Lyra's shop before speaking. Her voice was soft and distant. Across the rhythms of her mind were the echoes of duty, resolve, grief and a clarity of purpose that cemented in her a sense of resignation on the road ahead.

"What would you do to ensure your people have a future, Lyra?" Though she asked the question aloud, it was clear she didn't expect an answer. “What lengths would you go to in order to stave off the end of everything you knew and loved? I have often asked myself, was the Sundering brought about because of arrogance or desperation?”

The woman shook her head. She settled the golden eyed elf with a searching stare.

“Twelve months ago, Kalzasi faced a devastating attack. The measures that we put in place to safeguard against such brutal incursions were breached. A Savant of the Circle of Spells was found dead. An entire squad of the Dead Legion was found slaughtered. Shortly after, Avialae of the Sky Guard were killed in a near ritual fashion before the deaths petered off.” She began pacing then. Grasping the ivory staff she walked back and forth as she sorted through her thoughts.

“What did all of those people have in common? At first glance? Nothing. What is the death of a Legionnaire? They are those consigned to such a fate. The death of a Guardsman? It is their duty. The death of a Savant of the Circle? Mages experiment with dangerous techniques all the time. These all seemed like ordinary tragedies in an extraordinary city. Until I looked closer. Each one of them skilled in the use of a particular substance; abjinurium. Some of them, this expertise only extended to martial prowess. Using the objects against creatures from the Deeps. Others were researching more advanced applications of the stone. Some of them pushing for more inventive uses in quelling the threats of the Warrens.” She paused and eyed Lyra for a moment before pressing on.

“Now consider this, those pushing for such advancements are now silent. Activity in the Warrens has stirred greater. Soon after? An ancient sorceress of myth and legend is released into the world. That same season, the Sovereign of Kalzasi departs to strengthen relations with like-minded states in a show of solidarity. A month ago…” The woman stilled and across her melodies there rang a sharp note of icy fury and wrath that was scarcely contained. “...my sons are almost killed.”

Her voice was flat and her face was blank of any expression except a cold stillness. Her mind though, sang with a furious intensity but also with a resolute sadness. Sahfri reached into the folds of her robe and withdrew a scroll. She unfurled it along with a black feathered quill at the tip of which was a sharp point. Even at a glance, it was clear that the quill was not an ordinary one. Though it was smooth and free of any symbols or adornment, it bore clear crystal tip with red veins threaded throughout the crystal.

“I thank you for your willingness to assist. What I require, however, is not something I will leave to a simple exchange of words.” Sahfri slid the parchment toward Lyra. Upon its surface was written a very detailed and masterfully scripted contract. A binding agreement laced with the compulsory and expertly woven power of Mesmer swearing the participants of the contract to secrecy in the upholding of the oath spoken in its presence.

“What I will ask of you, what we will work toward…” Sahfri’s eyes roamed Lyra’s features before she finished speaking. “...many will die.”

Sahfri took a deep breath.

"I want you to help me engineer the death of the Shokaze." She let that statement settle in before continuing. "The Gelerian Imperium to the south, is not as distant a threat as many would like to believe. They press their influence further and further and lately...that attention has focused on the North. Their greatest sympathizers are found in the High City of Zaichaer. They despise magic. They abhor anyone not human. They would exile every elf. They would relegate the Rathari to blood sports for entertainment as beasts. Orkhan would be pressganged to a life as slave labor. They would shackle every Avialae and break them...mind and soul."

The last was spoken as a whisper with Sahfri's eyes turning to the window. It was easy to follow her stare as her eyes drifted in the direction of a particular forge not far from Lyra's shop.

"For the past thirty years, my husband has been relentlessly pursuing peace, meanwhile Zaichaer has been solidifying its powerbase with support from mysterious benefactors." Her lips curled in slight amusement. "The Council of Kalzasi has continually pressed my husband to be more forceful in opposing Zaichaer but..." She shook her head.

"It would not be enough. Zaichaer does not see it. The leaders there are too blinded by their own prejudices to realize the truth. They are pawns. The Imperium is seeking a foothold to resume its expansion efforts in order to topple its enemies. If they take the North? Suddenly the world is once again their oyster. Why?" Sahfri gestured around them.

"This city means nothing. But what it sits on?" The Warrens were a place of both great danger and great reward. Kalzasi stood as warden against its horrors but did nothing to exploit those resources to their fullest extent other than to ensure its own independence.

"But it is not war with Zaichaer that concerns me. It is the much bigger, much greater threat. In open war? We can crush those fools in the so-called High City. But against the Imperium?" She shook her head. "We would fall. What we need is a united North. But it is not under the banner of Zaichaer that the North must be united. But..."

Her voice faltered slightly but after only that brief slip, Sahfri steeled herself.

"I know my husband's mind. I know his soul. He will never support such a campaign. And...and neither will my sons. For this reason, the throne must pass and it must pass to another who is more open to such an ambition."