TIMESTAMP: Ash 20th, 122
NOTES: -
NOTES: -
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Life in Solunarium was often frantic. Nobility demanded much from the lower castes, and Aardwalden had on his mind troublesome demands levied upon his Runeforge. Ethical concerns mounted from the day he opened shop, but Aardwalden knew it was not his place to address them. As was the tradition of his forebears, he would make anything with care as the law of the land permitted, and he had chosen Solunarium for its lax oversight. There were many forms to file, agents to consult, and multi-faceted processes to adhere to, but these barriers were superficial to his craft, and his apprentices were very good at handling the paperwork so far. Some clients balked with entitlement upon being presented with stacks of forms and permissions, identification and waivers retained to indemnify the Under-Forge from the habits of its customers while reporting sales and logging artifacts as required. Others found the formal process charming, indicative of an establishment thorough in its process.
The gnome needed a change in scenery. It seemed he hadn’t left the shop in days, as Merethyl often fetched the supplies he needed. Toiling over projects day by day, he felt fulfilled as any craftsman may be, but there was something strangely missing from his life. Now beneath the earth, in a shop of his own, and no longer tied to the history of his forebears, he could shape value to his own name through toil and hammer. Years roaming the world above left him with a longing for seeing new things, and he expressed this need by quietly setting down his hammer.
“Merethyl, Vik. Would you please keep edging these pathways towards the manifesto? Please be careful, it’s still quite volatile.” Aardwalden politely called, his wiry voice carrying over the quiet stone chambers.
The woman, a grey-skinned fae, looked up from her own project, a smaller one that faced fewer risks. “Uhh, yeah, boss. Vik, help me out with this one?” Vik came over to assist her, and together the pair began to discuss the current status of Aard’s work as they cranked up the height of the station and peered through the Aura Glass, taking notes.
Aardwalden’s feet sailed with wist, every step taken carrying him out of the forge, into his shop, and onto the steps below that glowing sign. The short, child-sized man plopped down, an inconspicuously still, stone statue betrayed only by the clothing he wore, those softly glowing blue eyes, and the motes of faintly blue energy circulating beneath the surface of his skin.
The Sanctine district bustled around him as he gazed out at the quiet alcove where a shadowy figure had taken the stage. The music rarely penetrated the forge halls, but he could hear it so clearly as far as his doorstep. He often wondered if he might hire such a bard for his small crew to keep each of their spirits high. It was without compare to the music of his homeland, of a presence that evoked thought and wonder in ways the cheery ho hum of the Dwarven Holds could not.
Life in Solunarium was often frantic. Nobility demanded much from the lower castes, and Aardwalden had on his mind troublesome demands levied upon his Runeforge. Ethical concerns mounted from the day he opened shop, but Aardwalden knew it was not his place to address them. As was the tradition of his forebears, he would make anything with care as the law of the land permitted, and he had chosen Solunarium for its lax oversight. There were many forms to file, agents to consult, and multi-faceted processes to adhere to, but these barriers were superficial to his craft, and his apprentices were very good at handling the paperwork so far. Some clients balked with entitlement upon being presented with stacks of forms and permissions, identification and waivers retained to indemnify the Under-Forge from the habits of its customers while reporting sales and logging artifacts as required. Others found the formal process charming, indicative of an establishment thorough in its process.
The gnome needed a change in scenery. It seemed he hadn’t left the shop in days, as Merethyl often fetched the supplies he needed. Toiling over projects day by day, he felt fulfilled as any craftsman may be, but there was something strangely missing from his life. Now beneath the earth, in a shop of his own, and no longer tied to the history of his forebears, he could shape value to his own name through toil and hammer. Years roaming the world above left him with a longing for seeing new things, and he expressed this need by quietly setting down his hammer.
“Merethyl, Vik. Would you please keep edging these pathways towards the manifesto? Please be careful, it’s still quite volatile.” Aardwalden politely called, his wiry voice carrying over the quiet stone chambers.
The woman, a grey-skinned fae, looked up from her own project, a smaller one that faced fewer risks. “Uhh, yeah, boss. Vik, help me out with this one?” Vik came over to assist her, and together the pair began to discuss the current status of Aard’s work as they cranked up the height of the station and peered through the Aura Glass, taking notes.
Aardwalden’s feet sailed with wist, every step taken carrying him out of the forge, into his shop, and onto the steps below that glowing sign. The short, child-sized man plopped down, an inconspicuously still, stone statue betrayed only by the clothing he wore, those softly glowing blue eyes, and the motes of faintly blue energy circulating beneath the surface of his skin.
The Sanctine district bustled around him as he gazed out at the quiet alcove where a shadowy figure had taken the stage. The music rarely penetrated the forge halls, but he could hear it so clearly as far as his doorstep. He often wondered if he might hire such a bard for his small crew to keep each of their spirits high. It was without compare to the music of his homeland, of a presence that evoked thought and wonder in ways the cheery ho hum of the Dwarven Holds could not.
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