What Can be Gained From Elbow Grease and Dust (Part III)
Posted: Sun Nov 07, 2021 4:46 am
12 Ash, 121 (Continued)
With a frown, Torin went to the rope and pulled himself out. Striding to his runeforge he unhooked his aetherglass from where it was usually kept on a moving mount so he could view his work from different angles. Tucking it carefully under one arm he climbed back down the rope. He didn't think whatever was going on down there was dangerous, figured his senses would have warned him if it was, but if he was wrong, Timon would hear if he called, and if he couldn't yell, he hadn't activated the amulet yet that day.
It was hubris; he was young, strong, and well trained, but it was still hubris. Aurin would have chastised him for it, but he wasn't thinking about that now. There was some sort of secret, and broken, magic in his basement.
Holding the glass carefully he observed the bulge in the wall from the angle that he could see it with his naked eye, while still as far away as he could get from it and still be in the cellar. His eyes adjusted and he could see it, frayed lines of old magic, broken down with age. He knew the look, had helped repair old enchanted items whose aether lines had begun to break down. The snapped bits of aether were writhing a bit, searching to reconnect to their other half, to flow correctly again.
Stepping closer he moved to stand where he could see the magic working correctly. When he had, again, adjusted the glass to really see the magic clearly a thrill ran through him. He was looking at a door. A magically hidden door. It was, quite literally, something out of stories. Stepping closer he let himself feel the magic, viewed it more closely, both the correctly working bits and the broken ones. He examined it for the better part of an hour, forgetting that Timon might appear at any moment and wonder what he was doing. It was fascinating, well made, but quite simple once he understood it. The work of the smartest runesmiths was as simple as possible while still attaining its purpose with elegance. Perhaps this house had belonged to a runesmith, long ago. If not then one had been paid to conceal a part of this cellar.
Setting the aetherglass down with great care, Torin climbed back up the rope as quickly as he could, went into his forge, and opened a small box that contained two pieces of Aetherite and a Dreamstone he'd bought from Jacun's store almost a year previously as an excuse to stay and talk with Sivan. The memory was a pleasant one, and it felt right that he would find a use for them now. Taking the larger of the two Aetherite he put it into his pocket, feeling its hum through the palm of his hand, gathered a few small tools for drawing and shaping magic, and decided, yet again, into the hole under his house.
It took him another hour of careful nudging, coaxing, experimenting, to use the power in the Aetherite stone to reconnect the threads of snapped aether that held the enchantment of concealment to the door. In so doing he was quite proud of the fact that he'd been able to access the part of the magic that designated the opening mechanism. There was a gesture that revealed and unlocked the door, which Torin changed to something he knew. Discovering what the original gesture had been would have required more expertise than Torin had, but he could tweak the magic while repairing it.
At least, so he hoped. The little Aetherite went dull almost as soon as he'd reconnected the last line of frayed magic. There was a little pop as the enhancement righted itself, not quite audible, exactly, but something that Torin could feel after fifteen years putting together magical items. With a triumphant grin on his dust-streaked face, he faced the door, held out one hand, and made the gesture.
The illusion of dirt and stone vanished, and he gasped, despite having been sure it would work. Behind stood a solid wooden door, not weathered or aged, shining from the polish and stain that could have been applied yesterday. Stepping forward he took the handle in one hand and pulled. There was another popping sound.
The next thing Torin knew his eyes were trying their best to open, but he was so tired. Something told him he must get up, but he could have sworn he was just having the most pleasant dream. Something warm and friendly; people he cared about gather together, food and laughter, something...
He reached for the ideas but they would not come back, and despite feeling ungodly tired he forced his eyes open. Adrenaline rushed through him as he at first could not figure out where he was, and then realized he was in the cellar he and Timon had discovered.
Why was he sleeping here? The light from the still open doors said it was only a few hours past noon. The memories of what had happened since he and Timon had dug out the doors with their heads came back to him slowly, and it hurt. Every time a new piece fell back into him there was an uncomfortable popping sensation. It felt like how his ears had when he'd climbed up very high with Kala and then climbed back down, his eardrums slowly pushing back out until they popped. It had hurt too, except it had been just once, and this happened over and over, in his brain.
It was a struggle not to throw up for a few minutes and he let himself lay still for it. When the uncomfortable sensations began to fade he finally tried to sit up. He was a little dizzy, and the reservation sat heavy in both his body and his mind, but he was able to sit, and then stand. The last bit of the memory fog faded and he whipped his head around to look at the door. Gods, anything at all could have been hiding, or, perhaps, worse, imprisoned behind the door. What in the hells had he been thinking? Again he wanted to throw up, but this time at his own stupidity, rather than the lingering effects of magic.
Effects of magic.
Torin moved, slowly, and with weariness, he hadn't been wise enough before, back to where his aetherglass had been set aside. Taking it up he examined the door, which was standing an inch or so opened from where he'd begun to pull it. His aching mind didn't like the work, but it was important to know what had happened, and what might still happen. There had been a trap enchantment, meant to protect whatever lay inside the door unless a password was spoken. He whispered a prayer of thanks to several different gods when he saw that the trap too had begun to degenerate over time. Almost none of it was left, but, from what he could see, it was supposed to render the person who opened the door into a deep sleep, and erase all memories of the basement from their minds. Nothing truly harmful, it seemed more like a way to protect than to damage anyone who might stumble upon the door.
It might have been anything though, might have burned him to cinder in an instant. His stomach roiled again and he felt a bit like crying. Taking a deep breath he studied very carefully to ensure no additional enchantments remained. He discovered nothing new, although he noticed that the concealment on the door would also keep aetherglass or other magical sight from viewing into the room. It was a fairly common addition to magical concealment, if a magically hidden door could be easily seen by someone with Semblance, in Kalzasi, it would likely be found.
At last, feeling reassured, he stepped forward again. Then he paused. Stepping back to the pile of broken wood he selected the longest piece that was still holding together, and with that, he returned and used it to push the door open the rest of the way. The door swung open, almost as if happy to do so, like a puppy that has played a prank and wants praise for it instead of punishment. Perhaps Torin's imagination was getting away from him. Peering into the room he noticed it must be right below his kitchen garden, though several feet of dirt would be between it and the surface, for there was a little step-down. The room wasn't larger, perhaps ten feet by fifteen, and appeared mostly empty. The walls and floor were of the same stone, though cleaner, and there wasn't nearly as much dust to the space as the rest of the basement had contained. The only things actually inside were a series of small crates, packed nearly with straw, with little packages inside. Torin poked one of the crates with the stick, dragging it to the door where he quickly picked it up and stepped back into the brighter light of the sun pouring down.
The crate contained around ten of the small packages. He took one, untied the twine it was neatly wrapped in, unfolded the oiled cloth to reveal a piece of velvet cloth, and inside that...
Torin gasped. It was a piece of Aetherite, large enough to fill his palm, and it didn't hum as the pieces he'd worked with always had. It Sang.
With a frown, Torin went to the rope and pulled himself out. Striding to his runeforge he unhooked his aetherglass from where it was usually kept on a moving mount so he could view his work from different angles. Tucking it carefully under one arm he climbed back down the rope. He didn't think whatever was going on down there was dangerous, figured his senses would have warned him if it was, but if he was wrong, Timon would hear if he called, and if he couldn't yell, he hadn't activated the amulet yet that day.
It was hubris; he was young, strong, and well trained, but it was still hubris. Aurin would have chastised him for it, but he wasn't thinking about that now. There was some sort of secret, and broken, magic in his basement.
Holding the glass carefully he observed the bulge in the wall from the angle that he could see it with his naked eye, while still as far away as he could get from it and still be in the cellar. His eyes adjusted and he could see it, frayed lines of old magic, broken down with age. He knew the look, had helped repair old enchanted items whose aether lines had begun to break down. The snapped bits of aether were writhing a bit, searching to reconnect to their other half, to flow correctly again.
Stepping closer he moved to stand where he could see the magic working correctly. When he had, again, adjusted the glass to really see the magic clearly a thrill ran through him. He was looking at a door. A magically hidden door. It was, quite literally, something out of stories. Stepping closer he let himself feel the magic, viewed it more closely, both the correctly working bits and the broken ones. He examined it for the better part of an hour, forgetting that Timon might appear at any moment and wonder what he was doing. It was fascinating, well made, but quite simple once he understood it. The work of the smartest runesmiths was as simple as possible while still attaining its purpose with elegance. Perhaps this house had belonged to a runesmith, long ago. If not then one had been paid to conceal a part of this cellar.
Setting the aetherglass down with great care, Torin climbed back up the rope as quickly as he could, went into his forge, and opened a small box that contained two pieces of Aetherite and a Dreamstone he'd bought from Jacun's store almost a year previously as an excuse to stay and talk with Sivan. The memory was a pleasant one, and it felt right that he would find a use for them now. Taking the larger of the two Aetherite he put it into his pocket, feeling its hum through the palm of his hand, gathered a few small tools for drawing and shaping magic, and decided, yet again, into the hole under his house.
It took him another hour of careful nudging, coaxing, experimenting, to use the power in the Aetherite stone to reconnect the threads of snapped aether that held the enchantment of concealment to the door. In so doing he was quite proud of the fact that he'd been able to access the part of the magic that designated the opening mechanism. There was a gesture that revealed and unlocked the door, which Torin changed to something he knew. Discovering what the original gesture had been would have required more expertise than Torin had, but he could tweak the magic while repairing it.
At least, so he hoped. The little Aetherite went dull almost as soon as he'd reconnected the last line of frayed magic. There was a little pop as the enhancement righted itself, not quite audible, exactly, but something that Torin could feel after fifteen years putting together magical items. With a triumphant grin on his dust-streaked face, he faced the door, held out one hand, and made the gesture.
The illusion of dirt and stone vanished, and he gasped, despite having been sure it would work. Behind stood a solid wooden door, not weathered or aged, shining from the polish and stain that could have been applied yesterday. Stepping forward he took the handle in one hand and pulled. There was another popping sound.
The next thing Torin knew his eyes were trying their best to open, but he was so tired. Something told him he must get up, but he could have sworn he was just having the most pleasant dream. Something warm and friendly; people he cared about gather together, food and laughter, something...
He reached for the ideas but they would not come back, and despite feeling ungodly tired he forced his eyes open. Adrenaline rushed through him as he at first could not figure out where he was, and then realized he was in the cellar he and Timon had discovered.
Why was he sleeping here? The light from the still open doors said it was only a few hours past noon. The memories of what had happened since he and Timon had dug out the doors with their heads came back to him slowly, and it hurt. Every time a new piece fell back into him there was an uncomfortable popping sensation. It felt like how his ears had when he'd climbed up very high with Kala and then climbed back down, his eardrums slowly pushing back out until they popped. It had hurt too, except it had been just once, and this happened over and over, in his brain.
It was a struggle not to throw up for a few minutes and he let himself lay still for it. When the uncomfortable sensations began to fade he finally tried to sit up. He was a little dizzy, and the reservation sat heavy in both his body and his mind, but he was able to sit, and then stand. The last bit of the memory fog faded and he whipped his head around to look at the door. Gods, anything at all could have been hiding, or, perhaps, worse, imprisoned behind the door. What in the hells had he been thinking? Again he wanted to throw up, but this time at his own stupidity, rather than the lingering effects of magic.
Effects of magic.
Torin moved, slowly, and with weariness, he hadn't been wise enough before, back to where his aetherglass had been set aside. Taking it up he examined the door, which was standing an inch or so opened from where he'd begun to pull it. His aching mind didn't like the work, but it was important to know what had happened, and what might still happen. There had been a trap enchantment, meant to protect whatever lay inside the door unless a password was spoken. He whispered a prayer of thanks to several different gods when he saw that the trap too had begun to degenerate over time. Almost none of it was left, but, from what he could see, it was supposed to render the person who opened the door into a deep sleep, and erase all memories of the basement from their minds. Nothing truly harmful, it seemed more like a way to protect than to damage anyone who might stumble upon the door.
It might have been anything though, might have burned him to cinder in an instant. His stomach roiled again and he felt a bit like crying. Taking a deep breath he studied very carefully to ensure no additional enchantments remained. He discovered nothing new, although he noticed that the concealment on the door would also keep aetherglass or other magical sight from viewing into the room. It was a fairly common addition to magical concealment, if a magically hidden door could be easily seen by someone with Semblance, in Kalzasi, it would likely be found.
At last, feeling reassured, he stepped forward again. Then he paused. Stepping back to the pile of broken wood he selected the longest piece that was still holding together, and with that, he returned and used it to push the door open the rest of the way. The door swung open, almost as if happy to do so, like a puppy that has played a prank and wants praise for it instead of punishment. Perhaps Torin's imagination was getting away from him. Peering into the room he noticed it must be right below his kitchen garden, though several feet of dirt would be between it and the surface, for there was a little step-down. The room wasn't larger, perhaps ten feet by fifteen, and appeared mostly empty. The walls and floor were of the same stone, though cleaner, and there wasn't nearly as much dust to the space as the rest of the basement had contained. The only things actually inside were a series of small crates, packed nearly with straw, with little packages inside. Torin poked one of the crates with the stick, dragging it to the door where he quickly picked it up and stepped back into the brighter light of the sun pouring down.
The crate contained around ten of the small packages. He took one, untied the twine it was neatly wrapped in, unfolded the oiled cloth to reveal a piece of velvet cloth, and inside that...
Torin gasped. It was a piece of Aetherite, large enough to fill his palm, and it didn't hum as the pieces he'd worked with always had. It Sang.