Ash 3, 122
The runesmith sat in his forge, at his specially crafted bench, which he also used as a desk when such a thing was needed, making notes in his large, leather bound schematics journal. The book was as wide as it was tall, nearly a perfect square, and inside were detailed drawings covered in even more intricately detailed notations. The notations covered everything from the compositions of the metal that had been used, how long the item had been in the kiln and the aether forge, what and how much aetherite had been needed, and what his semblance had told him of the changes wrought. On the back of each page were precise notes as to the exact process he'd used to begin the crafting and every change he'd made during. It was important, in his head, that everything be kept. There was a deeper aspect to the work he did that he was just beginning to wrap around the edges of. There was secrets of the type no one actually knew, not even those inside whose minds they allowed themselves to be held. Things without words in any language spoken on the earth. Things that, at his best, brightest, and strongest Torin could only feel, never think.
Acknowledging that his work was better, often far better, when he let himself be guided by the strange knowledge that defied being defined was easy. Trying to explain to someone else the least bit of what he was feeling or sensing or reaching toward was basically impossible. Mages of other disciplines caught on to the idea easily enough and Torin's friends (the only ones he'd tried to discuss the subject with) would listen to him get lost in trying to express how it felt to open his mind to things that didn't fit inside it, even if it made no sense. But he had come to accept that, even were he to have a conversation with someone of his own skill at the world magic he used to make his living, the reality would never be captured and contained in words.
The building blocks of reality, were the words that came to him when he forced the feelings, like flesh through gears, into them. He never said this phrase out loud, they felt crass, and sacrilegious, in some way he also could not understand. When he tried hardest he got a feeling that something, or somethings were, not watching him but more like he'd opened a door and whatever was on the other side now had the opportunity to see him, if only they were to turn in his direction. At such times the sense of dread and danger that had filled him the entire time his mind had fallen, without his body, into the Aetherium, and he pulled away quite quickly.
Aurin had obtained the rune of Traversion during his travels and the smith had some hope that, should he leave that door-that-was-not-a-door open too long and be snatched up by some creature of another realm, his fox-like master might come in after him. It was not a good thought, even if it made him feel a little safer, so whenever he found himself drifting too far across the barrier between what was and what might be he pulled back as soon as he realized it.
Today he was catching up on his notations from Searing, much to his shame. He had embarked on the decision to keep meticulous notes as soon as he'd been granted access to the Library of the University and seen how carefully the ancient and best of the more modern runesmiths had kept their notes. Since then he'd found that if he got caught up in the work and forgot to take the notes as he was forging, sitting down and doing it later became a chore. He forgetting came with it's own punishment and, after realizing he'd only made notes on two of the many things he'd made over the hottest season, had forced himself to sit and make the notes on one items every day.
At least this day he was working on something that was all new. Checking over the notes of the many sturdy weapons and strengthened armor to add small new details of his knowledge was a slog at the best of times, but writing out all the discoveries of something he'd invented (or adjusted to a new purpose) was at least entertaining.
The Lady of Leukos had been gone for what seemed like an age, though in reality it had only been a number of weeks. On her return she had commissioned a cloak which would be able to change her physical appearance, but specifically would be able to hide parts of her at will. The request had been more intriguing than confusing and Torin had believed that, if Kala had wanted him to know the reason behind the request, she would have told him. He had set to work on the project as soon as the last piece he'd started before receiving the request was finished.
After being sent the cloak that Kala had chosen, as fine a work of tailoring as Torin had ever seen, he called for the mage that he had hired on as a permanent employee. It felt odd to have someone who wasn't an apprentice working for him, viewing him as a boss. Thankfully Renault was not of a disposition to tug at his forelock or treat anyone with the obeisance many showed to the men who paid their wage. Though he did whatever Torin asked of him the relationship was more like that which he'd shared with other apprentices of the same rank when he'd first come to the city. They weren't friends, or, at least, not in the same way Torin felt he was close to the people he did think of as friends, but their working connection was good.
Toughening the fabric and bead work so that neither time nor wear would tarnish its beauty, so that attacks would not cause neither tear nor fraying was the first step. It could be accomplished with dragonshards, but those cost gold and, as he was already paying the mage, he might as well make use of him whenever it was possible. The days it had taken to imbue the lovely piece with the initial magic (Aurin had been needed to add the active magic that was the intention of the commission, and Torin himself would be using his Semblance to invert some of the magic from prying eyes.) had gone smoothly, without much conversation, which suited both men when they were at their work.
By the end of the ten days Torin was well satisfied, and though it pained him, he took the time to test that the beautiful fabric really was impervious to tearing, cutting, or staining before beginning the real work to turn it from a pretty thing into a powerful one.
Now, months later, he strained to recall every detail that he could of the forging of the different types of magic that had gone into it. It was the first time he had used his own rune to add magic to something in his aether forge. Concealing, or inverting, as he preferred to call it, would keep some of the magic, the more powerful magic, from being detected while emphasizing the runeforging that he wanted seen. It had been tricky and he had practiced the idea on some of the pieces he made for Starfall, figuring it wouldn't matter if a Sembler came along and was unable to tell that a sword or a lance was tougher or sharper than a mundane smith would have been able to make it.
He was proud of the inversion he'd wrought on the cloak, hiding some of the magic while leaving the rest available to any eyes who wanted to view it. Aurin had watched while he'd done the laying out of the concealment work originally, able to see and understand through his own rune of Semblance. It was nice to be able to share his work so intimately with the man he worshiped, even if Aurin would likely never work with another runesmith, he would know how to do something that was highly prized, if ever he did happen to need the skill. The more the redhead worked with him in the forge the more he seemed to gain an understanding of how, and what, exactly was needed.
The same could be said of Renault, who hadn't worked with a runesmith before Torin had initially hired him for one job. Now the man was old hat at it, understanding what Torin needed even if he seemed supremely uninterested as to why or what it was being used for. Whether the disinterested was due to knowing that his job was safer if he did not ask or from genuine lack of caring Torin did not know and figured the man was allowed whatever privacy he wanted so long as he continued to provide the service his salary required.
It took more than two hours to properly annotate the cloak's schematic and Torin felt more peevish than chastised by the end. Perhaps he should bring the issue up with Aurin and ask for guidance. The guilt he'd felt about asking for help with his business initially had mostly faded, what little pangs he still got were solved in the times he required the redhead's helpful discipline.
Yes, he would talk to Aurin about it. At least, if he could not be trusted to keep proper notation on his own, he had someone whose help he could count on.
The runesmith sat in his forge, at his specially crafted bench, which he also used as a desk when such a thing was needed, making notes in his large, leather bound schematics journal. The book was as wide as it was tall, nearly a perfect square, and inside were detailed drawings covered in even more intricately detailed notations. The notations covered everything from the compositions of the metal that had been used, how long the item had been in the kiln and the aether forge, what and how much aetherite had been needed, and what his semblance had told him of the changes wrought. On the back of each page were precise notes as to the exact process he'd used to begin the crafting and every change he'd made during. It was important, in his head, that everything be kept. There was a deeper aspect to the work he did that he was just beginning to wrap around the edges of. There was secrets of the type no one actually knew, not even those inside whose minds they allowed themselves to be held. Things without words in any language spoken on the earth. Things that, at his best, brightest, and strongest Torin could only feel, never think.
Acknowledging that his work was better, often far better, when he let himself be guided by the strange knowledge that defied being defined was easy. Trying to explain to someone else the least bit of what he was feeling or sensing or reaching toward was basically impossible. Mages of other disciplines caught on to the idea easily enough and Torin's friends (the only ones he'd tried to discuss the subject with) would listen to him get lost in trying to express how it felt to open his mind to things that didn't fit inside it, even if it made no sense. But he had come to accept that, even were he to have a conversation with someone of his own skill at the world magic he used to make his living, the reality would never be captured and contained in words.
The building blocks of reality, were the words that came to him when he forced the feelings, like flesh through gears, into them. He never said this phrase out loud, they felt crass, and sacrilegious, in some way he also could not understand. When he tried hardest he got a feeling that something, or somethings were, not watching him but more like he'd opened a door and whatever was on the other side now had the opportunity to see him, if only they were to turn in his direction. At such times the sense of dread and danger that had filled him the entire time his mind had fallen, without his body, into the Aetherium, and he pulled away quite quickly.
Aurin had obtained the rune of Traversion during his travels and the smith had some hope that, should he leave that door-that-was-not-a-door open too long and be snatched up by some creature of another realm, his fox-like master might come in after him. It was not a good thought, even if it made him feel a little safer, so whenever he found himself drifting too far across the barrier between what was and what might be he pulled back as soon as he realized it.
Today he was catching up on his notations from Searing, much to his shame. He had embarked on the decision to keep meticulous notes as soon as he'd been granted access to the Library of the University and seen how carefully the ancient and best of the more modern runesmiths had kept their notes. Since then he'd found that if he got caught up in the work and forgot to take the notes as he was forging, sitting down and doing it later became a chore. He forgetting came with it's own punishment and, after realizing he'd only made notes on two of the many things he'd made over the hottest season, had forced himself to sit and make the notes on one items every day.
At least this day he was working on something that was all new. Checking over the notes of the many sturdy weapons and strengthened armor to add small new details of his knowledge was a slog at the best of times, but writing out all the discoveries of something he'd invented (or adjusted to a new purpose) was at least entertaining.
The Lady of Leukos had been gone for what seemed like an age, though in reality it had only been a number of weeks. On her return she had commissioned a cloak which would be able to change her physical appearance, but specifically would be able to hide parts of her at will. The request had been more intriguing than confusing and Torin had believed that, if Kala had wanted him to know the reason behind the request, she would have told him. He had set to work on the project as soon as the last piece he'd started before receiving the request was finished.
After being sent the cloak that Kala had chosen, as fine a work of tailoring as Torin had ever seen, he called for the mage that he had hired on as a permanent employee. It felt odd to have someone who wasn't an apprentice working for him, viewing him as a boss. Thankfully Renault was not of a disposition to tug at his forelock or treat anyone with the obeisance many showed to the men who paid their wage. Though he did whatever Torin asked of him the relationship was more like that which he'd shared with other apprentices of the same rank when he'd first come to the city. They weren't friends, or, at least, not in the same way Torin felt he was close to the people he did think of as friends, but their working connection was good.
Toughening the fabric and bead work so that neither time nor wear would tarnish its beauty, so that attacks would not cause neither tear nor fraying was the first step. It could be accomplished with dragonshards, but those cost gold and, as he was already paying the mage, he might as well make use of him whenever it was possible. The days it had taken to imbue the lovely piece with the initial magic (Aurin had been needed to add the active magic that was the intention of the commission, and Torin himself would be using his Semblance to invert some of the magic from prying eyes.) had gone smoothly, without much conversation, which suited both men when they were at their work.
By the end of the ten days Torin was well satisfied, and though it pained him, he took the time to test that the beautiful fabric really was impervious to tearing, cutting, or staining before beginning the real work to turn it from a pretty thing into a powerful one.
Now, months later, he strained to recall every detail that he could of the forging of the different types of magic that had gone into it. It was the first time he had used his own rune to add magic to something in his aether forge. Concealing, or inverting, as he preferred to call it, would keep some of the magic, the more powerful magic, from being detected while emphasizing the runeforging that he wanted seen. It had been tricky and he had practiced the idea on some of the pieces he made for Starfall, figuring it wouldn't matter if a Sembler came along and was unable to tell that a sword or a lance was tougher or sharper than a mundane smith would have been able to make it.
He was proud of the inversion he'd wrought on the cloak, hiding some of the magic while leaving the rest available to any eyes who wanted to view it. Aurin had watched while he'd done the laying out of the concealment work originally, able to see and understand through his own rune of Semblance. It was nice to be able to share his work so intimately with the man he worshiped, even if Aurin would likely never work with another runesmith, he would know how to do something that was highly prized, if ever he did happen to need the skill. The more the redhead worked with him in the forge the more he seemed to gain an understanding of how, and what, exactly was needed.
The same could be said of Renault, who hadn't worked with a runesmith before Torin had initially hired him for one job. Now the man was old hat at it, understanding what Torin needed even if he seemed supremely uninterested as to why or what it was being used for. Whether the disinterested was due to knowing that his job was safer if he did not ask or from genuine lack of caring Torin did not know and figured the man was allowed whatever privacy he wanted so long as he continued to provide the service his salary required.
It took more than two hours to properly annotate the cloak's schematic and Torin felt more peevish than chastised by the end. Perhaps he should bring the issue up with Aurin and ask for guidance. The guilt he'd felt about asking for help with his business initially had mostly faded, what little pangs he still got were solved in the times he required the redhead's helpful discipline.
Yes, he would talk to Aurin about it. At least, if he could not be trusted to keep proper notation on his own, he had someone whose help he could count on.
