TIMESTAMP: Ash 1st, 122
NOTES: -
NOTES: -
- - -
Within Solunarium, there could scarcely be a greater divide between the auspicious elves of the Aværyan - the Duces - and the Populi Peregrinus. Somehow, Aardwalden found himself gazing upon a richly affluent man of ashen skin - Dryadalis Argentum, a “Moonborn” - an occurrence that set the rock gnome to edge. An entourage of loud, gossiping friends and guards preceded the noble's arrival.
Those warriors of the Golden Legion seemed to be serving as a security detail for the moment. They encroached upon Aard's end of the shop, the gnome knowing well enough to remain quiet until addressed as the crowd dispersed through his shop. He could hear quiet remarks with mixed favor on the ‘exotic’ Dwarven-make items on display. Would this be a reprimand?
By the regal frock the noble elf wore, and his sunken, pointed face covered in mage marks, Aardwalden could deduce two things: he was a member of the Ministerium Divinitatis, likely a Sanguinist - as most of them were - and that he was a mage of some calibur, likely a member of the Aværyan caste. From his place in the door, Aardwalden instructed his apprentices to stay at their stations, then crossed the expanse of his shop to sit promptly at his desk of office with folded wrist over hand to receive the proceedings.
“His Resplendence, Næris Vlahos-Aværys!” shouted a young Vastian man with unfocused eyes, adorned with choker and burly with physique. Lash-marks perforated his face like drips of rain. Servus. A slave.
”The House of the Lorekeeper?” Aardwalden thought. The gnome’s eyes trailed up at the man who advanced with intent, their eyes watching each other’s without breaking.
The man brushed aside his long, straight white hair and raised his brow, at the same time speaking with diction. “What a strange creature you are, Peregrinus. I had caught wind of a tale, of a Runeforge being built close to the heart of the Sanctine’s markets, and it seemed a tall one. I thought to myself, ‘a small man made of rock, manufacturing artifacts?’ and it brought a smile to my lips.” Næris’ eyes broke gaze to glance upon the displays at his side. There was a certain depth to his gaze. Something unassuming, and gifted. He breathed, then he let go. “None of your displays impress me, mage. Art to be sure, but this is a Runeforging business, is it not?”
Aardwalden recalled the honorific Næris would have to be addressed by. If he were a Duce, then ‘Dominus’ or ‘Resplendence’ would suffice. The former seemed appropriate. “Dominus Næris, you grace this lowly Perigrinus with your presence,” spoke Aard in a calm, wiry tone. “The displays at the front are merely artistic expression, to advertise form over function. My orders are custom, finely tailored to the client in specificity, with correspondence and letters delivered by the week. In observance of Solunarium law and customs, I would not endanger my clients nor my apprentices by leaving such artifacts unguarded. Now, I do have a list of products here if you would like to browse,” he said, offering up a standing leaflet of his prices.
Næris nodded to his guard, one of whom took the leaflet, looked it over, and then handed it off to the scion. The scion touched the side of his temple, eyes glancing line for line. He handed it back to his guard a moment later, then proferred another smile. “Do see to it that my friends and family wait outside. This sale is a private affair,” he said to his guard. The man complied, and the loud bustle dissipated, all except for the slave and the pair of guards remaining. “Are you experienced working with Voidrilium?” Næris asked.
Aardwalden’s glowing pools for eyes narrowed. He wasn’t. “A Solunarium specialty. Outlawed, in my old homeland,” he said. “I would delight to work with such a Shard, but this would be my first such foray into Voidrilium artifacts. Why come to me?”
“The ones who can are booked with projects will in to the next year, and the energies are temperamental in a way that Scriveners struggle to miniaturize the product,” Næris said. “Create for me a ring, empowered - and safe - to concentrate its energies to a fine point. I suspect a duel with a Negator is in my future, and I wish to be prepared. Voidrilium energies have the property to warp other forms of magic while also being a destructive force. You could say it’s an, ah, anti-anti magic power in some ways.”
Reaching into his pocket, the man fetched from within a black jewelry box. Box to guard. Guard to Aard, and the gnome tilted his head back, then clicked it open. The black stone sat on a velvet pillow, coursing with purple light.
“Greater?” Aardwalden asked.
“That it is,” said Næris. “Will you take on my project?”
Aardwalden thought to himself, closing the black box and setting it back down upon the desk. Leaning back in his chair, his little hands formed a pyramid beneath his chin. “So far I’m intrigued,” he answered, pointing the tips of his fingers at Næris. “What is your expectation on destruction - how deep into flesh should the energies penetrate into the average corpul victimei?” Body of the victim.
“Lethal,” said Næris. “Six inches should reach the vitals.”
“Would you consent to my Fae’ethalen apprentice taking the measurements of your finger, or did you have a servant in mind?”
“I have the inner diameter already prepared,” said Næris.
Aardwalden regarded the man with an impressed smirk. Customers familiar with the work effort were few and far between. “Color, make? Symbolism?”
Næris breathed in, then looked over the fine wares scattered about. “Hm. A very dark shade of black, the entire ring. With symbol - Varvara, upon its sigil. The function should be to squeeze - and with intent - to deliver that power; do not waste your time bolstering it structurally. If a spell could reach my hand and shatter the ring, then my hand would have perished alongside it,” he reasoned. “A tool for offense.”
Aardwalden plucked a quill from its holder and wrote the entire specifications down, a blend of Common and more easily referenced Pictography for the various properties he would instill upon the object. This would later become the group manifest for his apprentices to assist with. Freshly inked, Aardwalden passed the paper on to Næris, who scooped it up before his guard could. “Is everything correct?” Aardwalden asked.
“Yes,” said Næris, eyes peeling over every word and symbol. “I do believe so. Will you be able to begin work immediately?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed I can!” said the gnome. Stretching out to open a drawer, Aardwalden pulled forth an organized packet of forms required by the various Ministeriums, bound together. “This project will be of a Greater quality, at my minimum price for a custom order of the scope due to my inexperience with the material - I do not surcharge for my own education.”
“I appreciate that, mage,” said Næris with a distant tone, pulling the papers to himself. Fetching his own quill from his pocket, he began scrawling all of the important information Aardwalden requested. Magic may have been mostly unregulated, but Aardwalden needed many promises to indemnify him of retribution in the event of death from his artifacts. The legal system of Solunarium centered around vengeance, and his work was sure to anger grieving families in the event of his artifacts’ legitimate use, or misuse.
Slaying the documents one by one, Næris stacked them together once they were done, a soul-stricken look in his eyes. Aardwalden promptly took the papers back and began looking them over, nodding along the way. “Everything seems to be in order. We have an accord. Payment can be done in installments over the course of the project, or you are welcome to pay half now, and half when it is finished.”
“The latter is more favorable to my schedule,” said Næris. “If you fail, can I expect a refund in full?”
Aardwalden eyed him with intensity. “Dominus Næris, I do not fail. There are merely delays, and any such delay will earn overage discounts to your benefit. I will see you in twenty-five days.”
“Excellent,” said the thin, sunken-faced elf. “I look forward to seeing if foreign Runeforgers can be worth my time.” Næris rose, then leaned over the desk with a stark, not-so-subtle warning. “My patronage rarely leaves me disappointed,” he said in a cold tone.
Aardwalden lifted his head, and nodded curtly to the noble elf. “I will give you my absolute best. The gravity of your station is not lost on me, Dominus,” said Aardwalden. “I shall prepare my apprentices and get to work very soon.” Aardwalden clawed back the Dragonshard and held it up with acknowledgment, before tucking it away into his vest.
“I expect this from you,” said Naeriss, adjusting the frills of his frock and preening his hair. “I will send my progeny to deliver your payment tomorrow, around a similar hour. Until then… you are?”
“Aardwalden, your resplendence,” replied Aard. “Stoneborn Gnome. I’ll see you when the work is done,” he said with an innocent smile. “It was a pleasure.”
Næris blinked, then squeezed his eyes to leering, assuming slits before signaling to his guards and leaving with a powerful stride
. The fear Aardwalden had felt all this time shifted inward towards an inborn curiosity driving him to open the box and gaze upon those delightful swirls of purple energy crackling beneath the surface. “I will call you Oshkoz,” he told the stone. “And you had best behave.”
Within Solunarium, there could scarcely be a greater divide between the auspicious elves of the Aværyan - the Duces - and the Populi Peregrinus. Somehow, Aardwalden found himself gazing upon a richly affluent man of ashen skin - Dryadalis Argentum, a “Moonborn” - an occurrence that set the rock gnome to edge. An entourage of loud, gossiping friends and guards preceded the noble's arrival.
Those warriors of the Golden Legion seemed to be serving as a security detail for the moment. They encroached upon Aard's end of the shop, the gnome knowing well enough to remain quiet until addressed as the crowd dispersed through his shop. He could hear quiet remarks with mixed favor on the ‘exotic’ Dwarven-make items on display. Would this be a reprimand?
By the regal frock the noble elf wore, and his sunken, pointed face covered in mage marks, Aardwalden could deduce two things: he was a member of the Ministerium Divinitatis, likely a Sanguinist - as most of them were - and that he was a mage of some calibur, likely a member of the Aværyan caste. From his place in the door, Aardwalden instructed his apprentices to stay at their stations, then crossed the expanse of his shop to sit promptly at his desk of office with folded wrist over hand to receive the proceedings.
“His Resplendence, Næris Vlahos-Aværys!” shouted a young Vastian man with unfocused eyes, adorned with choker and burly with physique. Lash-marks perforated his face like drips of rain. Servus. A slave.
”The House of the Lorekeeper?” Aardwalden thought. The gnome’s eyes trailed up at the man who advanced with intent, their eyes watching each other’s without breaking.
The man brushed aside his long, straight white hair and raised his brow, at the same time speaking with diction. “What a strange creature you are, Peregrinus. I had caught wind of a tale, of a Runeforge being built close to the heart of the Sanctine’s markets, and it seemed a tall one. I thought to myself, ‘a small man made of rock, manufacturing artifacts?’ and it brought a smile to my lips.” Næris’ eyes broke gaze to glance upon the displays at his side. There was a certain depth to his gaze. Something unassuming, and gifted. He breathed, then he let go. “None of your displays impress me, mage. Art to be sure, but this is a Runeforging business, is it not?”
Aardwalden recalled the honorific Næris would have to be addressed by. If he were a Duce, then ‘Dominus’ or ‘Resplendence’ would suffice. The former seemed appropriate. “Dominus Næris, you grace this lowly Perigrinus with your presence,” spoke Aard in a calm, wiry tone. “The displays at the front are merely artistic expression, to advertise form over function. My orders are custom, finely tailored to the client in specificity, with correspondence and letters delivered by the week. In observance of Solunarium law and customs, I would not endanger my clients nor my apprentices by leaving such artifacts unguarded. Now, I do have a list of products here if you would like to browse,” he said, offering up a standing leaflet of his prices.
Næris nodded to his guard, one of whom took the leaflet, looked it over, and then handed it off to the scion. The scion touched the side of his temple, eyes glancing line for line. He handed it back to his guard a moment later, then proferred another smile. “Do see to it that my friends and family wait outside. This sale is a private affair,” he said to his guard. The man complied, and the loud bustle dissipated, all except for the slave and the pair of guards remaining. “Are you experienced working with Voidrilium?” Næris asked.
Aardwalden’s glowing pools for eyes narrowed. He wasn’t. “A Solunarium specialty. Outlawed, in my old homeland,” he said. “I would delight to work with such a Shard, but this would be my first such foray into Voidrilium artifacts. Why come to me?”
“The ones who can are booked with projects will in to the next year, and the energies are temperamental in a way that Scriveners struggle to miniaturize the product,” Næris said. “Create for me a ring, empowered - and safe - to concentrate its energies to a fine point. I suspect a duel with a Negator is in my future, and I wish to be prepared. Voidrilium energies have the property to warp other forms of magic while also being a destructive force. You could say it’s an, ah, anti-anti magic power in some ways.”
Reaching into his pocket, the man fetched from within a black jewelry box. Box to guard. Guard to Aard, and the gnome tilted his head back, then clicked it open. The black stone sat on a velvet pillow, coursing with purple light.
“Greater?” Aardwalden asked.
“That it is,” said Næris. “Will you take on my project?”
Aardwalden thought to himself, closing the black box and setting it back down upon the desk. Leaning back in his chair, his little hands formed a pyramid beneath his chin. “So far I’m intrigued,” he answered, pointing the tips of his fingers at Næris. “What is your expectation on destruction - how deep into flesh should the energies penetrate into the average corpul victimei?” Body of the victim.
“Lethal,” said Næris. “Six inches should reach the vitals.”
“Would you consent to my Fae’ethalen apprentice taking the measurements of your finger, or did you have a servant in mind?”
“I have the inner diameter already prepared,” said Næris.
Aardwalden regarded the man with an impressed smirk. Customers familiar with the work effort were few and far between. “Color, make? Symbolism?”
Næris breathed in, then looked over the fine wares scattered about. “Hm. A very dark shade of black, the entire ring. With symbol - Varvara, upon its sigil. The function should be to squeeze - and with intent - to deliver that power; do not waste your time bolstering it structurally. If a spell could reach my hand and shatter the ring, then my hand would have perished alongside it,” he reasoned. “A tool for offense.”
Aardwalden plucked a quill from its holder and wrote the entire specifications down, a blend of Common and more easily referenced Pictography for the various properties he would instill upon the object. This would later become the group manifest for his apprentices to assist with. Freshly inked, Aardwalden passed the paper on to Næris, who scooped it up before his guard could. “Is everything correct?” Aardwalden asked.
“Yes,” said Næris, eyes peeling over every word and symbol. “I do believe so. Will you be able to begin work immediately?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed I can!” said the gnome. Stretching out to open a drawer, Aardwalden pulled forth an organized packet of forms required by the various Ministeriums, bound together. “This project will be of a Greater quality, at my minimum price for a custom order of the scope due to my inexperience with the material - I do not surcharge for my own education.”
“I appreciate that, mage,” said Næris with a distant tone, pulling the papers to himself. Fetching his own quill from his pocket, he began scrawling all of the important information Aardwalden requested. Magic may have been mostly unregulated, but Aardwalden needed many promises to indemnify him of retribution in the event of death from his artifacts. The legal system of Solunarium centered around vengeance, and his work was sure to anger grieving families in the event of his artifacts’ legitimate use, or misuse.
Slaying the documents one by one, Næris stacked them together once they were done, a soul-stricken look in his eyes. Aardwalden promptly took the papers back and began looking them over, nodding along the way. “Everything seems to be in order. We have an accord. Payment can be done in installments over the course of the project, or you are welcome to pay half now, and half when it is finished.”
“The latter is more favorable to my schedule,” said Næris. “If you fail, can I expect a refund in full?”
Aardwalden eyed him with intensity. “Dominus Næris, I do not fail. There are merely delays, and any such delay will earn overage discounts to your benefit. I will see you in twenty-five days.”
“Excellent,” said the thin, sunken-faced elf. “I look forward to seeing if foreign Runeforgers can be worth my time.” Næris rose, then leaned over the desk with a stark, not-so-subtle warning. “My patronage rarely leaves me disappointed,” he said in a cold tone.
Aardwalden lifted his head, and nodded curtly to the noble elf. “I will give you my absolute best. The gravity of your station is not lost on me, Dominus,” said Aardwalden. “I shall prepare my apprentices and get to work very soon.” Aardwalden clawed back the Dragonshard and held it up with acknowledgment, before tucking it away into his vest.
“I expect this from you,” said Naeriss, adjusting the frills of his frock and preening his hair. “I will send my progeny to deliver your payment tomorrow, around a similar hour. Until then… you are?”
“Aardwalden, your resplendence,” replied Aard. “Stoneborn Gnome. I’ll see you when the work is done,” he said with an innocent smile. “It was a pleasure.”
Næris blinked, then squeezed his eyes to leering, assuming slits before signaling to his guards and leaving with a powerful stride
. The fear Aardwalden had felt all this time shifted inward towards an inborn curiosity driving him to open the box and gaze upon those delightful swirls of purple energy crackling beneath the surface. “I will call you Oshkoz,” he told the stone. “And you had best behave.”
- - -
